Diplopia
by know1knows
Summary: AU. Occurs immediately after Devil's Trap. Is everything that occured in season 1 actually what it appeared to be? Is everyone really who we think they are? And should we always believe what we see?
1. Chapter 1

**Diplopia**

All the standard disclaimers….

Not mine. Never will be. Not making any money.

I just like to play with them!

Set immediately following the season finale "Devil's Trap"

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

The rain was coming down so fast and hard that it was virtually impossible to see more than a few feet past the hood of the truck. The high-beams were of little use, simply reflecting the rapidly falling rain back through the windshield and obscuring his vision even more. Even the wiper blades swiping across the windshield at full speed could not keep the glass clear long enough to properly determine what lay ahead.

All he could do was keep driving. And hoping that the road ahead was clear. That nothing lay ahead to impede his progress. Because the weather was slowing him down enough as it was.

As he sped onward in the suffocating darkness, he tried to ignore the high-pitched squealing of the wiper blades as they scraped against the windshield and the incessant pounding of the rain drumming on the roof overhead. Both sounds seemed to be taunting him. Mocking him with the knowledge that they were holding him back. And reminding him that he had to hurry. That he couldn't slow down. No matter what.

Because he might already be too late.

He had heard through the grapevine that they had gone to Jefferson. That's where the demon was rumored to be now. It had been in Salvation and they had tried to stop it there. But the demon had eluded them. So they had gone to Jefferson to search for it.

But that's where the information became clouded. No one knew why they had decided to confront the demon now. It had been well over 22 years. What would a few more months have mattered? Why couldn't they have waited just a little while longer?

At least waited until he contacted them.

He knew that they had been trying to find him. They had left voice messages, text messages, even tried to find him themselves. But he had avoided them. Always staying one step ahead of them and just out of touch.

Because it was safer that way.

At least that what he had thought. Right up until the messages had stopped when they left Chicago. After they had figured out that it was too dangerous for their family to be together. It had just seemed logical that it was probably too dangerous for any type of communication to continue. Because they all knew they were closing in on the demon. So, the fact that they had stopped trying to contact him had not been a concern.

Not until now.

Because now he was unable to contact them. He had been trying all night. But there had been no response. Not to his calls. Not to his messages. No one had heard from them. Not since they had left Bobby's house.

It was Bobby who told him what had happened and why they were headed to Jefferson. And he had spent the past two days trying to reach them on time. Before they found the demon. Before they confronted it.

Bobby was supposed to meet him in Jefferson. He was going to help him find them. And help them all defeat the demon. But he hadn't heard from him all day either.

And now he was afraid. Afraid for all of them. Afraid that the demon had found them. Tricked them. Or maybe even killed them.

He quickly swept those thoughts from his mind. Thinking like that wouldn't help. It would only make it harder to concentrate, to focus on all the things he had to in order to find them. And right now he had to pay attention to the road in front of him. To make sure he made it to Jefferson alive.

Because he wouldn't be any good to them dead.

He concentrated on the road, keeping an eye open for anything unusual that might be out there. Anything that might be on the road that shouldn't be. Because he knew that the demon would be monitoring his movements too. It would know that he was coming. And it would be waiting for him. Just like it had been waiting for them.

Most likely it would have set a trap to ensnare him.. Nothing simple and easy to decipher, but something dark and sinister. Just like it was. So he had to pay attention. And be ready.

Ready for anything.

The night was dark and the highway was quiet. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen another vehicle. The forest that surrounded the highway on both sides made it seem even more isolated and the darkness encompassed his truck, only halting where the headlights cut a path through the night. He was unfamiliar with this highway. He had never driven it before and the unyielding blackness gave the impression that an endless abyss existed just beyond the perimeter of the headlights' glow.

He caught sight of a road sign just before he passed it. A sharp s-curve lay up ahead. He removed his foot from the gas and slowed the truck so he wouldn't lose control. Still, he was going too fast and he hit the shoulder as he went around the first curve. He managed to pull the truck back onto the road before he made it to the second curve and he was able to complete the second turn without incident.

As the road straightened out in front of him, the headlights picked up the silhouette of a large object in the field on the right-hand side of the road. He slowed the truck to take a closer look and he recognized the object to be a transport truck. He could see the deep furrows in the ground where the transport had driven off the road. Judging by the cloud of smoke billowing behind the transport, the accident had just happened.

He pulled the truck to the shoulder of the highway and looked out at the scene. There was no one around which meant that the driver was probably still in the truck. Maybe he was injured – or dead.

He debated whether he should call the accident in to the local authorities. But, if the driver was hurt badly enough, they might not make it to him in time. So he decided to check for himself. Quickly. Before he ventured back on his way.

He exited the truck and was surprised to discover that the rain had stopped. The ground was barely even wet here. He must have finally driven out of the storm system.

He grabbed his flashlight and quickly surveyed the area. It was quiet and still; the only discernible sounds emanating from the transport. The transport truck was still running and the smell of diesel fuel permeated the thick night air.

"Hello?" he called out warily. But there was no response. So he cautiously started walking toward the transport truck. He went slowly up the side of the trailer, mindful that this whole scenario could be a trap. It was unlikely, but possible nonetheless.

As he got closer to the cab, he saw something else. Another vehicle. The transport truck had hit another vehicle and pushed it off the road. It was extremely difficult to see the car in the darkness but he could tell it had been hit hard. Broadsided and pressed tightly against the nose of the truck. One look at it was all it took for him to surmise that its occupants were probably dead. A car didn't stand much chance against an 18-wheeler.

So he decided to check on the truck driver before he even thought about the people in the car. He climbed onto the step of the truck and swung the driver's door open. He shone the flashlight inside.

There was no one there. The cab was vacant. The driver was gone.

He flashed the light around the small cab but there was no sign of the driver. And there was a surprising lack of blood anywhere in the cab.

Maybe the driver had gotten out to help the people in the car.

But no one had answered when he had called out from the side of the highway. And, surely the truck driver would have seen his truck as he approached the scene. If the transport driver was uninjured, he should have been watching for any approaching vehicles and met him at the side of the road. Or at least answered his call. Unless he was in shock.

He jumped down from the truck and proceeded over to the car. As he walked closer, he was startled to discover that he recognized the car. It was a black 1967 Chevy Impala.

Just like the Winchesters owned.

His heart jumped to the back of his throat and he ran around the car until he came to the driver's door. He bent down and shone the flashlight in the window. As he peered inside the car, he immediately recognized the blood-soaked driver. There was no mistaking his identity

It was Sam Winchester.

He quickly shone the flashlight through the interior of the car. There was a passenger in the front seat but the man was positioned away from him so he unable to determine who he was. The lone occupant in the back seat was leaning against the door, facing him.

Dean Winchester.

He could hear a low, bubbling whistle coming from under the hood of the Impala. And he could smell gas. There was a good chance that the car would erupt into flames. And it might do that at any moment.

He had to get them out.

He grabbed the door handle on the driver's door. But it was stuck. He tried pulling on it to no avail. So he tried the rear door. He had to reach in quickly to stop Dean from tumbling to the ground when the door jerked open as soon as he lifted the handle.

As he held Dean securely in his arms, he kicked the door open the rest of the way so he could pull him out. He laid him gently on the ground before he dashed back to the Impala to get Sam.

He scrambled into the backseat and leaned over Sam's body so he could grab the door handle. He pushed against the door with his shoulder as he pulled up on the handle. Thankfully, the door opened. He got out of the car and went back to the driver's door. He carefully grabbed Sam and maneuvered him out of the car. He laid him down on the grass beside his brother.

It was then that he noticed a spark ignite underneath the Impala. He still had to get the other passenger out. But the car was wedged against the transport truck and it would be next to impossible to get him out through the passenger door. He would have to pull him out the driver's door.

He quickly made his way back to the car and climbed into the driver's seat. He could see small flames reflecting in the shiny metal of the 18-wheeler's grill. He knew it was only a matter of time before the flames spread and the car caught on fire. He had to get him out now. He yanked the passenger towards him. The sudden movement caused the man's head to roll towards him and he could see the man's face in the dim light.

He recoiled in the seat as he stared downwards into his own lifeless eyes.

TBC….


	2. Chapter 2

John couldn't believe what he was looking at. It was perfect replica, an exact likeness. It displayed every scar, wrinkle, gray hair and other distinguishing feature that characterized his appearance. It looked exactly like him. There was only one problem. It wasn't him.

But it had obviously tricked his boys. Tricked them into believing that it was him. And maybe even tricked them to their deaths.

John swallowed his qualms and grabbed the lifeless abomination. As his fingers touched the desiccated, scaly skin, the monstrosity disintegrated before his eyes until all that remained was a pile of grayish-brown granules that had the appearance of coarse sand. John gazed down at the debris that had once been a carbon copy of him. What type of being could it possibly have been? Why had a physical body remained after the creature had obviously died or the demonic entity fled the corpse? Only to disintegrate when he touched it?

A loud whooshing sound pulled him from his reverie and he looked up to see a bright flash of light coming from underneath the car. The Impala was on fire. John quickly leapt out the driver's door and rolled away from the burning vehicle. As he came to a stop beside the prone bodies of his sons, John looked up at the blaze that was quickly consuming his son's car.

Dean was going to be more than a little upset when he found out his car was gone. He had cherished that car from the moment John had given it to him. Actually, John was pretty sure that Dean had been in love with the Impala from the moment he was born. John could still remember Dean kneeling in the driver's seat when he was three, spinning the steering wheel and sputtering out car noises while he watched him from the garage. Even then Dean could occupy himself for hours in that car.

And now it was gone. Like so many other pieces of their lives. Nor did the irony of the situation escape him as he watched the flames engulf the car. Everything that was important to them seemed to be taken away in a blazing inferno.

Just like his sons would have been if he hadn't driven by when he did. If he had driven by only five minutes earlier, he would have gone past them before the accident happened. Or worse, if he had recognized the car as they crossed paths, he might have stopped them and they all could have been hit by the 18-wheeler.

As he continued to stare mesmerized at the blaze, John shuddered to think what would have happened if he had arrived five minutes later. But, like so many incidences in his life, he couldn't concern himself with that now. It was done. There was no way to undo it. All that mattered now was what happened from this moment forward.

John crawled closer to his sons' still motionless bodies. He checked Sam's neck for a pulse, and although his skin was cool and clammy, John could feel a faint heartbeat. He stretched his arm over his youngest son to determine Dean's condition. Dean's skin was colder, his appearance more ashen and John had a more difficult time finding a heartbeat. And when he did, it was alarmingly weak.

John flipped open his cell phone and called '911.' As he waited for the operator to answer, he berated himself for not calling when he first arrived at the scene. If he had, the emergency crews would have been here by now. And his sons would be receiving the help they so desperately needed. Instead, they'd have to wait at least another five or ten minutes. Five or ten minutes that might be needed to save their lives.

After speaking to the operator and providing the location and description of the accident scene and a brief evaluation of his sons' conditions, John closed his phone and ran back to the truck to grab his sparse medical supplies. There wasn't much he could do for either Sam or Dean until help arrived. Just try to keep them warm – and alive.

He covered them both with the emergency blankets he kept in the truck and he used his shirt to prop Sam's head and neck up because it looked like he was having trouble breathing. John hurriedly assessed Dean's medical condition and, based on what he saw, decided it was probably best not to move his oldest son. He looked like he might succumb to his injuries at any moment but right now he was breathing. John figured it would be best to leave well enough alone.

The welcoming sound of sirens pierced the still night air. John scrambled back to the highway to greet the emergency vehicles and direct help back to his sons as soon as they got here.

As he sprinted around the back of the transport's trailer he was pleased to see flashing lights in the distance and he continued running to the shoulder of the road where he flagged them down. Not that they really needed any help to find the accident scene; the blaze from the burning Impala lit up the sky and surrounding area for miles around.

After he had rushed the paramedics to where his ailing children lay, John stood back to let everyone do their jobs. As he stood and watched them labor frantically over both his sons, a police officer approached him and asked if she could speak to him for a few minutes. John followed her back to the cruiser where she started by asking him his name, address and so-forth.

"The victims," asked the officer, "You know them?"

"Yes, they're my sons."

The officer looked at him, compassion evident in her eyes. "I'm sorry." She paused for a moment before she asked, "And you just happened to come upon the accident as you were driving by?"

"That's right," replied John. "I was supposed to meet them in Jefferson earlier this evening but I was delayed because of the rain. I had just driven around the curve when I saw the transport from the highway and I pulled over to see if the driver needed help."

"But you didn't call 911 then?"

"No, I didn't. I wasn't sure if the transport had just driven off the road or what had happened. I didn't want to call for help if the only thing that was needed would be a tow truck. It wasn't until I got closer to the cab of the truck that I even noticed the car."

"And what did you do then?"

"Well," reflected John, "I couldn't really see the car very well and I figured its occupants would probably be dead, so I went to the cab to check on the truck driver but there was no one there. I thought he might be helping the people in the car so I went to see. It wasn't until I got around to the front of the truck that I recognized the car."

"And that's when you realized that the people in the car were your children?" asked the officer gently.

"Yeah," responded John slowly. "And I could smell gas. So I pulled them out before the car erupted into flames. Then I called 911."

"I see," smiled the officer politely. "And did you ever find the driver of the truck?"

"No, Ma'am."

The paramedics had finished loading Sam and Dean into separate ambulances and were getting ready to leave. All John could see were about a million different gadgets hooked up to each of his sons. John glanced at the police officer and asked if it would be possible for him to accompany the ambulance to the hospital. He'd be there with his boys if she needed to ask him any more questions.

"Are you going to be okay to drive?" she asked. "Because I can have another officer take you if you'd like."

"No, thank you," replied John quietly. "I'll be fine."

There was no way he was going to leave his truck parked on the side of the highway. Not when it was stocked full of every weapon imaginable to fight beings that weren't even of this realm.

John followed the ambulances directly to the hospital. When he got there, he parked the truck in the Emergency drop-off lane and ran into Emergency right behind the paramedics. He watched helplessly as both stretchers were met by frenzied hospital personnel and immediately whisked out of sight. As he tried to catch his breath, a young nurse approached him and guided him to a private corner where she gently obtained some much-required medical information on the boys and helped him fill out some forms.

When John had completed the forms, he asked if he could see his sons. The young nurse went to check on their status and came back a few moments later.

She hid her sad eyes behind a warm smile. "I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester. They're both still in Trauma and, unfortunately, we can't provide you with any other information right now."

"But they're both still alive?" he asked hesitantly.

She nodded slightly before she told him that they would let him know that moment they had any news. As he got up to head to the waiting area, she placed her hand tenderly on his arm and said, "Don't worry. They're both in the best hands."

John sat impatiently in the waiting room for the next couple of hours, getting up periodically to stretch his legs and relieve the monotony. On one of his frequent trips to the coffee machine, he was approached by a doctor.

"Mr. Winchester?" the man inquired. When John nodded, he continued, "I'm Dr. Beckett. I just want to let you know that both of your sons are out of surgery and they're both stable at this time. They've been moved to Intensive Care."

"May I see them?" asked John hurriedly.

Dr. Beckett nodded and led John down a long hallway. As they approached a room labeled "ICU", Dr. Beckett stopped and looked at John.

"I want you to know that they've both suffered severe injuries. You'll probably find it disturbing to see them. They're both in critical condition and there's no guarantee that either one of them is going to survive."

"I understand," replied John flatly. "I just want to see them."

He followed the doctor into the ICU and saw both Sam and Dean lying on hospital beds right next to the Nurse's Station. The nurses who were monitoring the boys' vital signs stepped out of the way as John and the doctor neared the small room.

John walked up to Sammy's bed and grasped the bed rail with both hands to steady himself. There were needles and wires protruding from every inch of his son's body. Sam was hooked up to a heart monitor that quietly announced the lethargic beating of his heart. His face and arms were discolored and covered with bruises while a brace around his neck held his head stiffly facing forward .

"He's pretty lucky," stated Dr. Beckett quietly. "He's breathing on his own and he only has one broken leg, a fractured wrist and a couple of cracked ribs. He's suffering from a concussion and we're monitoring him for any cardiopulmonary injuries that we may have missed but he seems to be stabilized right now. But he's by no means out of the woods yet."

John simply nodded as he slowly walked over to Dean's bed. John could barely recognize his eldest son under the mass of instruments and monitors they had attached to him. He had a tube inserted down his throat that was attached to a machine that looked like it was breathing for him. The heart monitor broadcast the irregular beating of his heart to everyone within earshot. John stared at the IV bags that were delivering different types of liquids into Dean's system; one of them was obviously full of blood.

John looked despondently at the doctor.

"He has three broken ribs and a fractured pelvis and he's lost an enormous amount of blood. He also has a collapsed lung and with all his the other injuries, we felt it would be better to have the machine breath for him. It will enable his body to concentrate on healing his other wounds. He's in a coma right now. But that's to be expected with the severity of his injuries."

John continued to stare a Dean's comatose form when he asked softly, "What are his chances."

"It's hard to say," replied Dr. Beckett. "It's really too early to tell."

John simply nodded slowly.

"He's young," continued the doctor. "And he seems to be in pretty good physical shape, which should both help increase his chances of recovery."

John didn't respond.

"And there's always hope," added the doctor.

One of the nurses wandered over and gently touched John's arm. As he lifted his eyes to look at her she said, "Mr. Winchester, there's a police officer outside who wants to speak to you."

John nodded listlessly and walked out of the ICU without looking back at either of his sons. As he entered the hallway, he was met by a burly officer that appeared to be in his early thirties.

"John Winchester?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry to have to bother you at this time but there appears to be a problem."

"A problem?" asked John, confused. What kind of problem would warrant a police officer bothering him at a time like this?

"The people in the accident. They're your sons?"

"Yes," replied John, wondering where this was leading.

"Sam and Dean Winchester? Dates of birth May 2, 1983 and January 24, 1979?"

"That's right," replied John hesitantly. "What's this about?"

"Your son, Dean?" asked the officer, obviously uncomfortable with the information he was going to depart.

"What about him?"

According to official records, he died March 7th of this year."

"He died?" reiterated John in disbelief.

"Yes. In St. Louis."

"That can't be," stated John. "He's in ICU fighting for his life."

"Well," replied the officer, "With your permission, I'm going to have to obtain his fingerprints."

"Whatever for?" asked John in annoyance.

"Because if it really is him," replied the officer apologetically, "He's wanted for murder by the St. Louis police."


	3. Chapter 3

"_Wanted for Murder? In St. Louis?_ " repeated John shaking his head. "That can't be possible."

"I'm sorry, Sir," replied the officer. "But that's what came up when we input his name into the system."

"I don't suppose there's any way I can stop you from taking his fingerprints?" asked John warily.

The officer shook his head. "I really only mentioned it as a courtesy. We have sufficient reason to believe that the suspect in question is indeed Dean Winchester, which gives me all the authority I need to obtain his fingerprints, with or without his consent."

"Even if he's unconscious?" asked John.

"Conscious or unconscious - it doesn't make a difference," stated the officer. "The information gathered both at the accident scene and here at the hospital provides sufficient grounds for me to verify his identity. And, just so you are aware, once we get a positive I.D., he will be placed under arrest."

"And how's he going to know he's been arrested while he's unconscious?" asked John.

"We just have to ensure that the suspect realizes that he's under arrest as soon as he regains consciousness," explained the officer. "So as soon as I get a positive I.D., I'll inform the hospital staff that he's been taken into custody. That way they'll know that he isn't free to leave and he'll be advised of that as soon as he wakes up." The officer continued, "And because of the serious nature of the charge, we'll probably post a uniformed officer outside ICU at all times." He paused and looked sympathetically at John, "My only other option would be to handcuff him to the bed."

"And what would the sense be in doing that?" replied John in annoyance. "It's not like he'll be going anywhere for a while, even after he wakes up."

"No Sir," agreed the officer. "And, given the severity of his injuries, handcuffing him could quite possibly interfere with any medical treatment he may require in the meantime."

John nodded. Although he didn't like what was happening, he was well aware of the law in this instance. His objections and questions had been more of a personal venting than a lack of knowledge of the law and he realized the futility of arguing with the police officer; it would probably just make things more difficult for both him and Dean if he did. So John reluctantly led the officer back into ICU and stood quietly at the head of Dean's bed while he watched him pull out the fingerprinting kit he had brought with him.

John watched as the officer opened the inkpad and ran a small roller across the pad before he grabbed Dean's hand and turned it, palm up, toward him. He then used the roller to carefully ink each of Dean's fingertips. Once he had completely covered each digit, the officer rotated a small piece of paper from the kit around each finger to capture the print. Each time he removed the paper from one of Dean's fingers and inspected it, the policeman looked more and more perplexed.

Before he attempted to fingerprint Dean's thumb, he took a small alcoholic wipe from the kit and wiped Dean's thumb clean. After re-inking his thumb, he repeated the procedure to record the print. As he removed the paper from around Dean's thumb, John stole a quick glance at the paper and immediately understood what was causing the officers consternation. Where there should have been a series of ridges and valleys to identify the print, there was absolutely nothing. The print looked like it had been rolled against an extremely smooth object like a sheet of glass; it was just a solid line smeared across the paper.

The officer looked down at Dean's hand and ran his fingers over his palm. He then proceeded to ink Dean's palm to obtain his palm print. But from what John could see, the resulting impression was the same as the thumbprint; there were no identifying marks transmitted to the sheet of paper. Without hesitation, the officer reached across the bed and grabbed Dean's left hand to inspect it. But it looked the same as his right hand. There were no visible lines of any kind on his hand; in fact it seemed to the police officer that he was staring at the palm of a mannequin.

John just barely overheard the officer as he mumbled under his breath, "I've never seen anything like this before." He shook his head and frowned before he went about fingerprinting Dean's left hand.

John just watched the officer silently. He didn't understand what was going on either.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean awoke with a start. He opened his eyes and glanced around the darkened room. It was quiet and he strained to listen for any noises he could make out. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized that he was in a hospital and he noticed that he had electrodes and IV lines hooked up all over his body.

"What the hell…?" he queried out loud as he started to yank the various electrodes off his chest.

Dean had no recollection of how he had ended up in the hospital. The last thing he could remember clearly was helping his father down the fire escape at Sunrise Apartments to evade the demons that were coming after them.

As he pulled the last of the electrodes from his torso, the monitor started beeping rapidly and before he had a chance to remove the IV, the door to his room opened and two nurses rushed through the door and up to his bedside. One of the nurses attempted to stop him from removing the I.V. while the other one grabbed the cables that connected the electrodes to the heart monitor and reached over to turn down the machine.

"What are you doing?" asked the younger nurse who was trying to hold him down in the bed. "You can't just take those off!"

"The hell I can't!" remarked Dean irritably. "I don't have to stay here!"

"Now, just a minute, young man," responded the older nurse who had managed to untangle the mass of wires that Dean had ripped from his body and had now placed a hand on his shoulder to help the other nurse still his movements. "When you were brought in here a couple of days ago, you were in pretty rough shape. What makes you think that you can just walk out the minute you wake up?"

Dean stopped resisting the nurses and lay back on the mattress. He'd been in the hospital two days already? As soon as he settled down, both nurses relaxed their holds on him. The older nurse, having successfully detangled all the electrodes, then went about reattaching them to Dean's torso.

"Hey!" protested Dean. "Are those really necessary?"

The older nurse looked at him from the corner of her eye and said, "They are until I can get a doctor to come in here and look at you. It would have been so much easier if you had just used your call-button when you woke up, instead of ripping everything off."

Dean raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly to the validity of her statement. He didn't say anything else as she finished reapplying the electrodes but he noticed her nametag indicated that her name was Teresa Morrison and she was the charge nurse. Then he glanced at the second nurse who was now busy flipping through his chart. Her nametag read: Vonnie Larson R.N. and Dean estimated her to be in her early thirties.

"What happened to my father and brother?" Dean asked suddenly

Both nurses exchanged glances but didn't say anything.

Dean glanced between the two of them and stated flatly, "Let me guess. You don't have a clue what I'm talking about."

The younger nurse shook her head slightly and said, "Not really. You were brought into Emergency by ambulance. It's listed as a probable Hit-and-Run and, as far as we know, you were the only one involved." She looked at him sadly and added, "And no one's been in to visit or even inquired about your condition. I'm sorry."

Dean lay back in the bed and refrained from talking. He had to figure out what was going on. They obviously didn't know who he really was - which was probably a good thing. But he'd have to remember what I.D. he had been carrying in his wallet before he said anything else about himself or his family. And he had to find out exactly what the hospital knew. Like starting with how he had ended up here.

"So I was in an accident?" he asked.

"That's right," answered the charge nurse as she reached across the bed and took the chart from the other nurse. "Do you remember anything about what happened before you lost consciousness?"

"No, Ma'am," answered Dean, bewildered. "The last thing I remember is standing outside Sunrise Apartments after the fire alarm went off."

"Well, that's where they found you unconscious, lying on the hood of a car," interjected Nurse Larson. "In the alley, just behind the apartment building."

Dean turned and looked at her. "And they figure that's the car that hit me?"

"No one really knows for sure what happened," explained the older nurse. "According to the paramedic's report, someone saw you lying unconscious on the smashed hood of a parked car and they immediately notified the firefighters who were on the scene. The firemen determined that you'd suffered severe trauma to your head and upper body so they requested an ambulance be dispatched to the scene. Based on the extent of your injuries and the amount of damage to the car, the paramedics determined that the car must have run into you before it stopped. But there was no evidence of any skid marks so it didn't even appear that the car even tried to avoid hitting you. But whoever was driving the car fled the scene and I don't believe that the police have been able to contact the registered owner of the car." She looked at him questioningly as she asked, "We were hoping you'd be able to provide us with some information about what happened. Do you remember anything about the accident?"

Dean slowly shook his head and tried to remember. He could remember helping Dad down the fire escape. He had gone out the window first just in case Dad hadn't had enough strength to make it down on his own. He had eased Dad to the ground and then Sam had jumped off the fire escape behind them and headed out into the alley. Then Dean remembered seeing someone tackle his brother as he walked past a van. When the man started hitting Sammy viciously across the face, Dean had run over to get him away from his brother. He had kicked Sam's assailant as hard as he could but it hadn't had any effect on him. The man had simply stopped beating on Sammy and fixed him with a dark stare. And seconds later Dean remembered being flung rapidly through the air. That was the last thing he remembered with any clarity.

Now Dean realized that he must have landed on the car and the force of the impact had knocked him unconscious. And that's where he'd been when someone in the area had found him. But what had happened to Sam and Dad. Where had they gone? And why had they left him there all alone?

Dean looked at the nurse quizzically. "And there was no one else in the alley? Just me?"

"You were the only one there when the fire department showed up. And the witness who informed the fire department never mentioned anyone else," verified the nurse. "Why? Do you think that there was another person there?"

"I'm not really sure," lied Dean hesitantly. "I can't remember."

Dean couldn't understand what had happened. It just didn't make sense. What had happened to Dad and Sam? They wouldn't have left without him. And, if the demons or whatever they were had killed them, why hadn't they made sure he was dead too? Why had they left him alive? It wasn't adding up.

Dean wasn't willing to admit that the family that meant so much to him could be dead. So he pushed all of those thoughts out of his mind and decided to focus on finding them. They had to be alive; there was no other alternative. And he was going to have to find them, which meant that he had to get out of the hospital as soon as he possibly could. But it didn't look like they'd be willing to discharge him any time soon. And if he tried to check himself out, he'd probably be in for more headaches than he'd received when he did that after he'd been electrocuted. Not to mention the outstanding issue of paying for his little hospital stay. So he was just going to have to sneak out and he was going to have to sneak out soon. The longer he stayed in here, the colder the trail got to Dad and Sam.

Dean turned back to the nurse and shrugged. "I honestly don't remember what happened. Maybe it will come back to me later." He paused before he added, "I think I'd like to go back to sleep for a while."

The nurse nodded before she said, "I'm going to page the doctor on duty to have him come take a look t you now that you've regained consciousness. But, it would probably be a good idea to get some rest until he gets here."

With that, the two nurses left the room. As soon as Dean was alone he carefully extracted the I.V. needle from his arm and got out of bed. Dragging the monitor across the room with him, he made his way to the closet and opened it to discover a plastic bag containing all his clothes. He hurriedly set about getting dressed taking care not to disturb the electrodes that the nurse had reattached to his chest. He pulled on his jeans and footwear before he threw his long-sleeved shirt over his back, opting out of putting his t-shirt on first. He'd worry about finishing getting dressed later - after he had gotten rid of the monitor.

Once he was dressed, Dean glanced around the room and saw a chart bolted to the back of the door. He recognized it to be a fire escape plan and he headed over to the door, still lugging the monitor with him. The chart showed a detailed floor plan and provided the exact location of the room in regard to the nearest exit in case of a fire. As luck would have it, this room was right at the corner of the building, only a few feet from the closest stairway. All he'd have to do was slip unnoticed into the hallway and make his way quietly into the stairwell. Once he did that, he'd be able to go down the stairs and get outside before anyone noticed he was gone.

His only problem was the stupid monitor. He knew that if he simply reached over and turned it off, a warning device would ring at the nurse's station to alert them. And he already knew that the darn thing beeped so loudly if the electrodes were just disconnected from his body. So he didn't see any other option than to drag it with him into the stairwell and hope that the thing's range was extensive enough that he'd be able to run down a couple of flights of stairs before it started to emit whatever noises it did to alert someone to the fact that something was wrong. Because, the minute he was closer to the ground floor, Dean planned to pull off those cumbersome electrodes and leave the machine in the stairwell.

Dean knew he had to hurry; it was only a matter of time before the doctor showed up and he had no intention of still being there when he did. Dean cautiously opened the door just wide enough to be able to peek into the hallway. Most of the lights in the hallway were off because it was the middle of the night and Dean couldn't see anyone in the hall. So he guardedly opened the door a little bit more and stuck his head out to look around.

It was quiet and there was no one in the hall. He glanced quickly to his left and saw the stairwell about ten feet away. Keeping a vigilant eye for any signs of movement, Dean slid warily into the hallway, carefully hauling the monitor out with him and sticking as close to the wall as he possibly could. Once he reached the door leading to the stairs, Dean leaned against it and slowly pushed it open, trying to keep the amount of noise to a minimum. Guiding the monitor in after him, Dean prudently slipped into the landing and discreetly eased the door closed. As soon as the door latched shut, Dean grabbed the monitor with both hands and raced down three flights of stairs. When he reached the second floor, Dean hurriedly turned off the machine and yanked the electrodes off his chest. Once he was free of the monitor, he sprinted the remainder of the way down the stairs, not stopping until he had exited the building.

Dean stepped outside and into the artificial light that flooded the parking lot. He paused for a moment to catch his breath and, as he glanced over at the front of the building, he noticed that he had been in the Jefferson Memorial Hospital. Dean started to jog slowly into the parking lot where he would get lost amongst the vehicles parked there.

As he wandered further away from the hospital, Dean slowed his pace, removed his cell phone from his shirt pocket and dialed his father's number.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John had spent the better part of the last two days camped out at the hospital. He was extremely weary from a combination of worry and a profound lack of sleep. But, it was once again the middle of the night and he found himself awake and restless. He got up from the couch in the Family Waiting Room outside ICU and wandered into the unit to check on his boys. Neither of them had regained consciousness but Sammy's condition seemed to be improving. He had stirred in his sleep a few times, even calling out for Dean once or twice, which concerned John because it sounded like he was distressed about something. But the doctors saw it as a good sign that he was coming out of his coma and felt that he would likely waken soon. They seemed to think that his subconscious was struggling to come to terms with the accident and that was what was keeping him comatose for a little longer than normal.

Dean, on the other hand, wasn't doing as well. He was still breathing with the help of the machine and his heart had stopped twice since he had been in ICU. But he was still alive and John tried to take some comfort in that. Dean wasn't a quitter and John expected him to fight this latest setback as hard as he'd fought everything else in his life. At least that's what John was counting on. He hadn't heard anything more from the police since they had taken Dean's fingerprints, but they had posted an officer outside ICU just before the other officer had left with Dean's fingerprints.

John stood quietly between the two hospital beds where both his sons lay. He wondered what had transpired that had resulted in the two of them fighting for their lives in the hospital and he realized that he was no closer to finding the demon now than he had been when he met the boys in Chicago. But his life was that much closer to being destroyed completely. He didn't know what he was going to do if either of his sons died.

John sighed and decided to go outside for a breath of fresh air. He needed to think. Besides, he was still hoping to hear from Bobby and knew that while he was inside the hospital he was cut off from the rest of the world. Maybe he'd try once more to contact him. It seemed as if Bobby had disappeared from the face of the earth too and John wondered when he'd be able to figure out exactly what was going on.

John took the elevator down to the main floor and exited the building from the front door. As he walked out into the cool night air, he flipped his cell phone open and immediately received notification that he had a message waiting. As John listened to the message, his heart skipped a beat:

"_Dad_," came a familiar voice on the phone, "_Call me as soon as you get this message...It's Dean."_


	4. Chapter 4

John lowered the phone from his ear without turning it off. He stood stock-still as he tried to digest the message he had just retrieved: Dean wanted him to call him back. 

Dean…who was in ICU…on the 3rd floor of this hospital…unconscious and just barely clinging to life…had called and left a message requesting him to phone him back.

How was that even possible?

John mulled over the events of the last few days, trying to find some version of reality amongst all the chaos. But, try as he may, there were just too many unknowns and he realized that he was lacking too many pieces of the puzzle to complete the picture.

But he did know that, for some reason Sam and Dean had decided to confront the demon on their own, without calling him, letting him know or even requesting his help. And when the demon headed to Lincoln, the boys had gone after it.

Bobby had told him that they had contacted him and asked for help because they thought that the demon was holding him captive. They thought that John had gone after it because it was slowly killing all their friends. But, they had managed to entice that girl from Chicago in a protective circle at Bobby's and before she died, she had told the three of them that the demon had taken him to Jefferson. So that's where the boys had headed after they left Bobby's, thinking that they were going to rescue their father.

But John didn't have any idea what had transpired after they left Bobby's up until he had ventured upon the accident scene and found both boys half-dead in the Impala. And ever since then, they had been fighting for their lives in hospital beds just a few floors above him. And they were still there.

Or were they?

John had just left the Intensive Care Unit, where he had seen both Sam and Dean with his own eyes. But the message on his phone indicated that Dean had called just over thirty minutes ago which was approximately the same time that he had awoken from his fitful sleep and wandered back into ICU. He had seen both of his sons lying in their beds, still hooked up to various medical machines and gadgets - and still unconscious. And, judging from his physical condition, there was absolutely no way that Dean could have called him during that time.

So how had he?

John thought back to when the policeman had taken Dean's fingerprints and it didn't appear that he even had any. Now that he thought about it, John didn't think that it was possible to obliterate your fingerprints – no matter what you did. They could be altered or obscured with scars or other disfigurements, but they couldn't be wiped out completely. And from what he had observed, Dean didn't seem to have any discernible fingerprints at all. And that was impossible. For a human being anyway.

Maybe whatever was lying in that hospital bed wasn't really Dean. Maybe it was the same type of entity that John had observed in the Impala before it had disintegrated before his eyes. Maybe it was some sort of supernatural imposter. Only, unlike the replica John had witnessed of himself, this one wasn't dead yet, which was why it still existed.

But it _had_ died. It had gone into cardiac arrest twice in the last two days. And the hospital staff had revived it. So, if it wasn't Dean, why hadn't it dissolved into ashes when its host's body had died and the nurses had used the defibrillator to resuscitate it – just like the one in the car had disintegrated when he touched it?

Or maybe, the 'Dean' that had left the message on his phone was the fake. Maybe it thought that Dean had actually died in the car accident and now it was trying to pass itself off as his son. And this just might be the trap that the demon had planned for him.

Either way, John knew he was going to have to proceed with caution.

So, without bothering to return the phone call to 'Dean', John turned around and headed back into the hospital. He wanted to check on the 'original Dean' and make sure he was still unconscious in ICU. And, if he was, John was going to do a tertiary inspection to see if he could find anything to prove one way or another if this one was his son or not.

As John exited the elevator, he was more than a little relieved to see that the police officer was still located outside ICU. At least that meant that as far as the law was concerned, Dean was still in ICU and hadn't gone anywhere. As he slowly approached the entranceway to the unit, John paused and glanced through the small window in the door. He could see both Sam and Dean lying in their beds. As he placed his hand on the door to push it open, John was suddenly hit with another terrifying thought.

What about Sammy? Where did he fit into all of this? And how could he be sure that the person – or thing - lying on the bed was really Sammy?

John walked silently up to Sammy's bed but he didn't try to touch his youngest son. Instead, he gripped the bedrail and just stood there and looked at him for a moment. Then he quickly glanced over at Dean lying in the bed opposite him. They both sure looked like his sons. If only one of them would wake up. Then maybe he'd be able to figure out for sure if they were actually his boys.

Once again, John stared down at Sam. The doctors thought that there was a good chance he would emerge from his coma soon. And while he had prayed for the doctors to be right, now John found he was having second thoughts. What if this wasn't really Sammy? What if it was actually a demon and the drugs were just keeping it sedated – and harmless – at the moment? What if, once it woke up, it tried to kill him? Or Dean? Or wreck havoc of some other sort on a bunch of totally unsuspecting people?

Or what if it was simply biding its time until the other one had recovered enough from its injuries and woke up too? Were they both some sort of demonic entities that had been sent to inflict some horrible bane on mankind? Or seek revenge on him and his family?

John was developing a really severe headache.

John shook his head to clear his thoughts. As he continued to watch his youngest son, he realized that he had let his imagination go too far. The young man lying in front of him had to be his son. There was nothing to indicate otherwise. His injuries were pretty much consistent with those that would have been incurred in a car crash – except for all the bruising on his face. John hadn't paid too much attention to them until now, but now he was sure that they must be the result of a severe beating. And John didn't know of any demonic beings that would willing undergo an assault like that without killing its tormentor first. Still, John chose to be careful and he cautiously grabbed Sammy's hand, turned it over and inspected it.

At least he could see that this one definitely had fingerprints.

John slowly walked over to Dean's bed and stared down at him. He looked so normal; so much like his oldest son that John found himself disbelieving every thought and fear that had entered his mind during the past twenty minutes. This had to be Dean and the phone message just had to be a mistake. Maybe it had actually been recorded a few days ago and for some unknown reason it hadn't registered on his phone until right now.

John rolled his eyes at himself as he realized just how stupid that last thought was. Even more stupid than thinking that there were demonic entities walking around impersonating his children.

John took hold of Dean's wrist. As he lifted it toward him, he was struck with how hot it was. It felt like he was burning up from fever. But the monitor that was recording his vital signs showed that Dean's temperature was normal – 98.6F – and there was no way in hell that his skin could be this hot if that was an accurate reading. And John knew from experience that most supernatural creatures either had no body temperatures or, if they had originated directly from hell, they were often too hot to touch for long.

John turned his son's palm over and, even though he was becoming more and more convinced that this wasn't really Dean, he was still shocked at what he saw. There were no prints, no marks, absolutely no signs of fingerprints or other indentations that always encompass a person's hand. The skin on the entire hand was immaculate - unblemished and perfect. It looked like the hand on an extremely expensive porcelain doll.

Satisfied for the moment that this couldn't possibly be Dean, John gently placed the arm back down on the bed and hesitantly glanced over the thing's decimated body. As his gaze wondered up to its face, John took a frightening step backwards.

The creature's eyes were open and it was staring at him with a malevolent grin on its face.


	5. Chapter 5

"Damn," sworn Dean as he closed his cell phone after leaving a message on his father's phone. "Why doesn't he ever answer his phone?"

Dean pocketed his phone as he stepped out onto the street. He had made his way through the hospital parking lot and decided to head to the nearest convenience store or gas station to ask for directions. He really didn't know Jefferson that well and had no clue how to get back to where he and Sammy had left the Impala. When he hadn't been able to reach either Sam or his father by phone, Dean decided that his best bet would be to check on whether or not the Impala was still where they had left it. If it was, there was probably a good chance that they had been captured by the demon or its minions.

And that would be a good reason why he hadn't been able to reach them. It would also mean that he'd have to formulate a plan to rescue them after he'd figured out where the demon was holding them.

But if the Impala was gone, then there was probably a good chance that Sam and Dad had taken it somewhere. And then all he'd have to do was find them before he lambasted both of them for abandoning him in the hospital for two days without even a phone call to see if he was okay.

Nice to have a family that cared so much.

Dean walked about three blocks before he saw a combination gas station-convenience store and headed toward it. As he approached the store, he realized that not only was he tired, but he had one heck of a headache too. He'd just buy some Advil or something while he was there.

He wandered into the store and looked around until he found the small display of pain-killers on a shelf. Not finding any Advil, Dean grabbed some Tylenol before he picked up a cold Pepsi and went to the cash to pay. As he fumbled in his pockets for some money, Dean asked the clerk for directions to Clay Street, which was where they had left the Impala.

Turned out that he was way across town, too far away to walk. And public transportation had never been his thing. So there was only one choice left.

He was going to have to steal a car.

Or, as Dean preferred to think of it, borrow a car. It wasn't as if he was planning on joy-riding in the thing. All he needed was a fast lift across town. Then he'd leave the car all nice and neat - wiped free of fingerprints of course - on some side-street just waiting for the police to find it. And they'd make sure it eventually made its way back to its owner.

All he had to do now was find a car to 'borrow.' Gas Stations were usually the best places to look. Most people left their keys in the ignition while they filled the gas tank and seldom removed them before they went inside to pay. So while some unsuspecting person was inside paying the attendant for their purchase, he'd just casually stroll over to the car and take it for a little ride.

But it wouldn't be a good idea to stake out a car at this station. He'd already hung around long enough and been inside the store. Even if the clerk hadn't been paying particular attention to him, he'd no doubt been caught on the security cameras. Didn't need that to add to his troubles.

So Dean casually strolled out of the store and proceeded down the street. As he got to the corner, he noticed that there were at least three gas stations within walking distance. He'd start with the closest one and go from there.

Dean neared the first gas station and observed that there were currently three cars gassing up. He glanced quickly at the vehicles to determine if any of them warranted taking a closer look to assess their availability. The car closest to the office had two passengers, which ruled it out immediately. The other two cars were parked at the pumps located closest to the road and neither had any passengers.

Perfect.

Dean slowed his pace, hanging back from the gas station and checking out the angles of the security cameras in the lot. There were two cameras perched high on the lampposts at opposite corners of the station, and, as expected, they were both pointing inwards toward the pumps. As long as he stayed outside the perimeter of the gas station, he'd remain out of both cameras range. But he'd have to be careful of loitering too long or he might draw some unwanted attention his way from either the patrons or the attendant.

So Dean stopped in front of a newspaper display case and although it was empty, he bent down and pretended to check out a story on the non-existent front page. Because it was angled to face the road, he was the only one who could tell that there was nothing in the display case. As he stared into the empty box, he watched the car that had been closest to the road pull out of the gas station and drive off in the opposite direction.

Dean stood up, sunk his hand into his front jeans pocket to pretend that he was fishing around for some change. As he was doing that, the woman who had been filling her gas tank in the other car at the station, replaced the hose and opened the driver's door. Dean discreetly watched her as she grabbed her purse and headed inside to pay. As soon as she entered the office, Dean dashed toward the car taking care to keep his head down so his face wouldn't be caught on the security tape.

As Dean approached the passenger side of the car, he glanced at the steering wheel. Sure enough, the keys were still in the ignition. When would people ever learn? As he maneuvered around the side of the car to jump into the driver's seat, something in the back seat caught his eye.

A baby seat.

With a sleeping baby in it.

As quickly as he had approached the car, Dean altered his direction and headed back onto the sidewalk. There was no way in hell he was going to take that car. He might be lots of things - many of them probably bordering on the unsavory side - but one thing he wasn't was a kidnapper. Especially of babies. He'd just have to try his luck at the next station down the road.

Dean increased his pace in order to distance himself from the gas station. The last thing he wanted was for someone to be able to identify him. The next station was just over a block away and as he neared it, he noticed that there was only one car at the pumps. It was on the inside of the aisle nearest the road and he found himself wondering why people never seemed to pull in to the pumps closest to the office. For some reason they seemed to want to distance themselves from the attendant and always went to the pumps further away. It never seemed to dawn on them that the further away they were, the easier it was for someone to steal their vehicle.

But he certainly was going to tell them that. Especially when that's what he was counting on in order to secure a ride.

Dean was only about 50 feet away from the gas station when he observed the car owner replacing the nozzle on the pump before heading into the office. Dean quickly checked for security cameras and, after finding them in their usual location, he sprinted toward the lot.

This time he crossed in front of the car, glancing inside for the keys as he approached it. Once again the keys had been left in the ignition. As he rounded the fender of the car, Dean rapidly scoured the rest of the interior with his eyes hoping, that this time, the owner had left the kids at home. Not seeing anything to indicate that a child may be present in the vehicle, Dean quickly opened the driver's door and climbed inside.

Dean hunched down as he started the car and quickly drove out of the lot. He floored the gas pedal to get as far away as possible from the gas station before anyone had a chance to alert the police. Before he had gone more than four blocks, Dean swung the car off the main drag and onto a side street. Then he drove through the back streets until he came to another main road and proceeded to drive across town, keeping a sharp lookout for any signs of the police.

It took him about twenty minutes to get to the location where they had left the Impala. As he rounded the corner onto Clay Street, he realized that the Impala was gone. He coasted to a stop near the spot where they had left the car and tried to decide what he was going to do now.

On one hand, he was glad that the Impala was not there because it meant that Sammy and his father were probably okay. But if that was the case, why had they left him in the alley? Or not even bothered to inquire about him at the hospital?

On the other hand, it left him with more problems - the first one being transportation. He certainly wasn't going to abandon his current mode of transport yet, especially seeing as he wasn't even sure how he as going find his brother and father. As Dean sat and pondered what his next move should be, his cell phone rang…

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John instinctively jumped backwards but the creature's luminescent blue-green eyes remained fixated on him. They didn't blink or even stray from his face. Nor did the abomination move. It simply lay still in the bed watching him as if it was gauging his reaction.

If it weren't for the fact that he was standing in a hospital ward with a multitude of nursing personnel milling around and a armed police officer just outside the door, John probably would have pulled out the gun he kept tucked in the back of his jeans and killed the creature. But, if he did that, he'd really just be causing more problems than he'd solve. At least right at this moment.

There was also another reason why John didn't open fire; he was, after all, staring into the eyes of his eldest son. Regardless of what his brain was telling him about this not really being Dean, there was absolutely no way that he could simply circumvent all his ingrained parental instincts and open fire on his son. Not without provocation anyway.

And, so far, this thing hadn't given him any reason to exterminate it. Not once in the last two days had it done anything that would warrant killing it. And now it was just lying there, fixing him with its enigmatic gaze. Staring at him through the eyes of his first-born child.

There had to be some reason why this thing had assumed Dean's shape and identity. Just like there had to have been a reason for the other entity to have taken his form. And both of them had been traveling with Sam. If he had been their ultimate target, why hadn't they killed him? Or possessed him? Or done whatever it was that they had planned on doing to him?

Instead, they had coexisted with him until someone – or something – had rammed the Impala with a transport truck. And left them all for dead. And the more John thought about it, the less inclined he was to classify that entire incident as an accident. Because if it had merely been an accident, why had the driver of the 18-wheeler simply vanished without a trace?

John let his gaze fall back on the enigma's face; he scrutinized its features, looking for anything that might give him cause to be concerned. Anything that might provide him with a motive to shoot the thing.

But it made no move to escape his scrutiny; nor did it make any attempt to hide the fact that its eyes were not those of a human being. There were no discernible pupils and they glowed with a brightness that John had never witnessed before. The blue-green color diverted them from appearing sinister and evil; there was something about them that seemed to draw John into their depths.

The two beings stayed locked in a surreal analysis of each other, neither of them moving until a nurse came up behind John and gently placed her hand on his arm. Caught unaware, John flinched and, for the second time in the previous five minutes, almost pulled out his gun.

"Mr. Winchester?" she asked, with a puzzled look on her face, "Are you alright?"

John blinked and slowly nodded his head. "I'm fine," he stated hesitantly. "Just a little tired, that's all."

"Well, that's understandable under the circumstances," replied the nurse with a comforting smile. "Maybe you should consider going home for a while so you can get some sleep."

John shook his head, "No. Not until I know for sure that my sons are going to make it through this."

The nurse tenderly squeezed his arm before she turned and headed toward Dean's bed. As John glanced back at the being that was occupying both the bed and his son's body, he noticed that it had closed its eyes. It looked like it was asleep; the same way it had been for the past two days. And it stayed that way while the nurse completed her inspection of its vital signs. Still, John was on edge the entire time the nurse hovered over it. Now would be the perfect time for the thing to strike.

John reached behind his back and grasped the gun. He clasped his hand firmly around the handle and waited. He was ready to draw the gun and kill the creature if it moved even one iota.

But nothing happened. And when the nurse moved away from the bed and casually wandered over to Sammy's bed, John relaxed his hold on the gun although he didn't release it. As the nurse verified Sammy's condition, John gradually made his way closer to the creature's bedside while he kept a careful watch on Sammy and the nurse.

Because the truth was that he didn't trust any of them. Not Sam. Not Dean. And not even the nurse. He was suspicious of everything. And everyone. More so than usual. Because he had no idea what was going on. And he wasn't about to let his guard down until he figured it out.

Or until something happened. But the nurse completed her examination of both boys without incident and, with a small, sympathetic smile directed at John, she went back to the nurses desk. And as soon as she was out of sight, John looked back at the creature in front of him.

And it was once again staring at him with its unblinking, glowing eyes. John continued to watch it carefully but he made no attempt to destroy it or even give it the impression that he was thinking about it. Until it reached out one of Dean's hands and motioned him to come closer. Then John pulled the gun from his waistband but he held it out of sight against his thigh as he moved toward the mysterious entity.

As he got closer to the creature, John could feel the immense heat emanating from its body. He could almost feel the skin on his face being scorched by the torridity and he winced against the unwelcome sensation. When he was only inches away, the being opened its mouth to speak.

"Only Sattva shall vanquish Mephistopheles."

Then, without warning, it burst into flames.


	6. Chapter 6

John watched in horror as the flames devoured his son's body. The intense heat emanating from the fiery inferno caused him to lunge backwards until he collided with Sam's bed. He gripped the bedrails tightly to steady both his body and his nerves as he struggled to come to terms with what he was witnessing. But, before he had a chance to fully comprehend the situation, the fire was out; its only consumption being the entity that had looked exactly like his eldest son.

When the fire erupted, all the nurses in the unit ran toward Dean's bed but there was nothing they could do but watch as the flames consumed his body in mere seconds. They stared perplexed at the vacant bed upon which their patient had lain just moments before. The flurry of activity inside ICU had been enough to attract the attention of the police officer posted outside and he ventured in but, by the time he arrived, the only evidence that there had once been a person in the bed were a few charred pieces of bone. And even they disintegrated rapidly into ashes as the stunned menagerie of spectators stood transfixed around the bed.

For a few minutes no one moved. They simply stood and stared at the empty bed. No one knew what to make of what had just happened and if it hadn't been for the scorched sheet smoldering on the bed, it would have been easy for all of them to believe that this had all been part of some strange twisted dream.

Except for the fact that one of their patients had completed disintegrated before their eyes.

The short-lived fire had burned just long and hot enough to activate the sprinkler system and a light mist began to fall throughout the room. As the water settled on the various pieces of medical equipment, many of them began beeping, which roused the nurses from their stupor and they quickly set about checking the status of their patients and resetting the monitors until only John and the police officer were left staring at the vacant bed. Both men kept their gazes fixed on the charred mark on the bed seemingly unaware of the hustle and bustle that was now taking place around them.

John's mind was racing. Like most people, he had heard of spontaneous human combustion but he had never witnessed it. Until now. Not until he had watched a replica of his son being consumed by the flames until it had been burned into nothingness. But as soon as the body had been consumed, the fire had died. It had extinguished itself without so much as touching another object. It had happened just like the legend said it did.

And now he knew that, like so many other legends, this one had a basis in fact. Only it hadn't been a human that had combusted; it had been a demon or ghoul or whatever type of supernatural entity that thing had been. And although he shouldn't have been surprised by this revelation, John found that he was having a hard time accepting it. Perhaps it was because, for all intents and purposes, he had just watched his eldest son disappear in a blazing inferno. Perhaps it was due to the events of the last few days and now everything that happened just seemed surreal and unbelievable. Or perhaps it was because he was extremely tired.

Finally, while the hospital staff moved patients away from the immediate area around the bed, John glanced at the police officer. He remained standing at the foot of the bed, fixated on the blackened spot that was the only discernable evidence that his prisoner had ever existed.

"What in God's name...?" the officer queried quietly as he looked at John.

John simply shrugged and shook his head slowly.

At that moment the doors to ICU swung open and a trio of firefighters entered along with a hospital security officer. The policeman immediately went to speak to them and John used that opportunity to back away from the bed. He needed to get outside - if only momentarily. As the policeman attempted to explain to the firefighters what he had witnessed, John quietly slipped behind one of the curtains that surrounded the bed of another patient and exited from the other side. He then slipped unnoticed out of ICU and made his way to the stairwell and ran down the stairs.

As he exited the building, John carefully scrutinized the multitude of people that were milling around the entranceway to the hospital. He was looking for anything strange; anything that might indicate that some or all of these people weren't what they appeared to be. Because John was feeling very uneasy, making him suspicious of everything, which was only made worse by the fact that he had left Sam alone and vulnerable in a hospital room three stories above him. And that thought filled him with dread.

But deep down inside, John felt that, at the moment, Sam was safe. That no harm would come to him right now. And that feeling had been reinforced by the creature and its actions. Because, for some unexplained reason, it had attached itself to Sam and accompanied him for an undeterminable length of time, and yet Sam had not been harmed. And it had remained alive in ICU, right beside him, until after Dean had contacted him. It was only then that the creature had revealed itself to be something other than what it appeared. And, unlike all of the other entities that he fought over the years, this one had not seemed to be filled with malice.

John was almost certain that the creature had been guarding Sam. And it had guarded him until it knew that he would once again be safe without its presence. Once Dean had contacted him, the creature must have believed its job was done. That's why it had chosen that time to reveal itself to him before it vanished in a mountain of flames.

John knew he had to get in touch with Dean. And pray that, when he showed up, he was the real thing. But, right now, he had to believe that he was. John pulled out his cell phone and dialed Dean's number. As he waited impatiently for Dean to answer, he snuck around the side of the building and concealed himself in the shadows so no one could easily see him. Because he still wanted to be careful.

Dean pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and looked to see who was calling. He was surprised to see that it was his father. Although he was relieved to discover that his father was alive and, therefore, probably okay, an intense wave of anger flashed through him at the same time. If his father was really okay then what reason had he had for leaving him in the alley? Why hadn't he come to the hospital or even called to see if he was okay? Instead he had simply left him there - alone.

But now he expected him to answer his call.

As Dean struggled with his anger, he debated whether or not to answer the phone. Part of him wanted to ignore the phone and let his father wonder why he didn't answer. But his strong sense of loyalty to his family eventually won out and he answered the phone on the fifth ring.

"Dad?"

"Dean! Where are you?" came his father's anxious reply

"Funny. I was going to ask you the same thing."

"Dean, don't be smart with me."

"Don't be smart with you?" Dean almost yelled into the phone. "After you go and leave me like that? I'm just supposed to forget it and pretend that everything is okay?"

"Where do you get off talking to me like that?" snapped John.

"The same place you got off leaving me alone in the hospital for three days without even bothering to check on me!"

There was silence on the other end of the phone until John finally replied flatly, "Dean. We have to talk."

"No kidding."

"No, Dean. I mean it. We have to talk. Things aren't exactly what they seem. Or how you remember them to be. I can't explain over the phone. We have to meet. Where are you?"

"What do you mean where am I? I'm in Jefferson - right where you left me. Where are you?"

"I'm in Willow Springs, and you have to get here as soon as you can. Then we can talk."

"What are you doing in Willow Springs?" asked Dean in confusion. "Why would you just leave me in Jefferson?"

"Dean, I know this is hard for you to understand but you're just going to have to trust me. I'll try to explain when you get here."

" What do you mean _try to explain_?"

"Dean," stated John vehemently into the phone, "We'll talk when we're face to face. I don't understand it all either. But right now, I need you to get here quickly."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" asked Dean, obviously still annoyed. "You took my wheels, remember?"

John didn't answer immediately. He had forgotten that Dean didn't know about the Impala. And he certainly wasn't going to tell him now. But, if he knew Dean, he was positive that his eldest son wouldn't have any trouble securing another vehicle.

"Just find a way to get here," barked John sternly. "Then call me. And I'll tell you where to meet me."

There was no answer, so John quickly added, "Dean - that's an order."

Dean inhaled deeply. He was beginning to hate it when his father infiltrated their conversations with that line. But at the same time, he realized that he probably had his reasons for doing so, so he simply responded like he always did.

"Yes Sir."

As soon as he heard the familiar - and expected - response from his son, John closed his phone and disconnected the call. Explanations could wait. Right now he had to make his way back up to ICU so he could check on Sam. Although he still believed that Sam was safe, he didn't know for how long. John didn't plan on leaving him out of his sight for any length of time.

So John wandered back to the front of the hospital only to see that a security guard was standing watch at the door to stop people from entering the building. The fire department obviously hadn't given the all clear to return inside yet. He was going to have to find another way in and he knew there was no sense trying to find another door; they'd all be blocked off too.

John walked back around to the side of the building. He scanned the wall for any sign of an accessible window. Although most hospital windows didn't open, there was usually an office or two on the first floor that had windows that did. But he didn't see any and he was just about to abandon his search when he looked down and noticed a window in the basement that looked like it would slide open. After a quick glance around to ensure that no one was watching, John jumped down into the window grate and bent down to look through the window.

The room was dark and it was difficult to see inside but from what he could make out, it looked like the room was some kind of workshop. At least it wasn't a lab or something that would probably have its own security system. That's probably why it didn't have any type of security window.

John noticed that the window was locked from the inside. But it was only a sliding latch so he slipped the blade of his knife between the two panes of glass and jimmied the lock until it unlatched. Then he carefully seized the window with both hands and slid it open quietly. John eased himself through the window and jumped down to the floor, before he turned to close the window and relock it. No point in making it obvious that someone had broken in.

He waited until his eyes had adjusted to the dim light before he headed over to the door and opened it minutely so he didn't draw any unwelcome attention to himself if anyone was in the hallway. But the corridor was empty and John quickly exited the room and ran toward an exit sign he saw further down the hall. As he approached the exitway, he was relieved to see that it was actually a stairwell and didn't simply lead to a doorway out of the building.

John sprinted up the stairs until he reached the third floor. Before he opened the stairwell door, John looked through the small window to check for anyone who might witness his arrival. But there was no one around so he opened the door slowly and made his way back onto the ward. Once he had gained access to the floor, it was easy to get lost in the ensuing commotion and he simply walked down the hall and sat in a chair outside ICU.

John had only been seated a few minutes when the door to ICU opened and the police officer and the fire chief walked out. They were lost in conversation and they didn't notice him immediately so he got up and walked toward them Sometimes it was better to appear eager to talk to the authorities than it was to avoid them and John figured this was probably one of those times. As he approached the two men, they stopped talking and the police officer muttered something to the fire chief. John assumed he was telling him who he was.

"Mr. Winchester, " greeted the fire chief solemnly. "I understand that it was your son in the bed where the fire broke out."

John nodded slightly but didn't answer.

"Do you know what happened to him?" asked the fire chief softly.

"No Sir, I don't. I know what I think I saw, but that doesn't make sense," replied John quietly. "All I know is that Dean wasn't in that bed when the fire went out."

The fire chief exchanged glances with the police officer before he looked back sympathetically at John. "I'm sorry to have to put you through this but can you tell me what it is you think you saw?"

"I saw my son burst into flames."

"Can you tell me where you were when that happened."

"I was standing right beside his bed. I'd been there for about 10 minutes just watching both my sons and then I walked over to Dean's bed. But just as I got there," he added hesitantly, "The fire broke out."

"And you didn't see anything to indicate that there was a fire anywhere around the bed before that."

"No. Nothing," stated John, looking bewildered.

"And was there anyone else around when that happened?"

"The only other person who had been near him was one of the nurses and she just checked his vital signs. Then she went over to my other son and checked his. It was right after she left and went back to the desk that the fire broke out."

"And you didn't see anything else unusual? Or notice anything out of the ordinary?" queried the fire chief.

Again John shook his head.

"That's pretty much the same story I've heard from everyone," replied the fire chief. "I just don't understand it. It doesn't make any sense."

John looked directly at the fire chief. "Do you have any idea what happened to my son?"

"Not at this time, no," answered the fire chief with a slight, sympathetic smile. "We're still investigating."

"I understand," stated John flatly. "Would it be possible for me to go see my other son, now?"

"I don't see why not," answered the fire chief kindly.

But as John turned to head into ICU, the police officer spoke up. "Mr. Winchester?"

John turned back and looked at him.

"When you're done, I'd appreciate it if you would accompany me down to headquarters. I have some questions I'd like to ask you in regard to your son's disappearance."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean heard the familiar click of the line being disconnected as his father terminated the call. Still, it took him a few moments to remove the phone from his ear and drop it on the seat beside him. Although he shouldn't have been surprised with the way the conversation had gone, Dean was more than a little annoyed. As was typical of his father, he hadn't even attempted to provide any type of explanation as to what had happened after they abandoned him in the alley or what he had been doing since then. Dean was just as much in the dark now as he had been before he talked to his father.

The only thing he had learned was that his father was now in Willow Springs. He didn't even know if Sammy was with him and his father hadn't even given him a chance to ask before he just hung up on him. So Dean picked up his phone and called his father back, knowing that he should still be able to reach him. But after the sixth ring it went to voice-mail. Instead of leaving a message, Dean hit the redial button to try again. There was still no answer. Undaunted, Dean tried again but obtained the same result.

Not that he was surprised. There was no reason for his father to answer his call now. He had everything he wanted.

Although he had tried earlier in the night, Dean dialed Sam's number to try to contact him directly. But, just as before, it immediately went to voice-mail indicating that for some reason Sam's phone was turned off. Not being able to contact either of them, Dean berated himself for failing to ask his father about Sam first.

Why had he been so selfish and angry that he was more concerned about himself? He should have been more worried about Sammy. Because the last thing he remembered before he had been thrown through the air was watching his brother being beaten to a pulp. And how in the world could Sammy have gotten out of that? He hadn't been able to stop the beating so how had Sam or Dad been able to? Dad had been too weak to effectively fight off the demon - or whatever it was - that had ambushed Sam. And Sam? Well, he would have had trouble overcoming the assault to his head to be able to fend off his attacker.

What had happened in that alley after he lost consciousness?

Dean thought back to the brief conversation he had had with his father. Why had he been so evasive? And what had he meant about things not being as they appeared? Or how he remembered them? What the hell could have happened that he didn't remember?

Amidst the endless questions whirling around in his mind, there was one thing Dean knew for certain; the next time he spoke to his father, he was going to ask about Sammy first. That way his father wouldn't hang up on him.

Dean put the car into gear and drove very carefully across town because he knew that the biggest problem with stealing a car from a gas station was that it was always reported as being stolen right away. And seeing as it was still the middle of the night, there wasn't that much traffic on the roads. Most people were still asleep and hadn't left their houses to start their day yet. So that meant that the police would be more apt to spot the stolen car if it happened to cross their path.

But Dean didn't see any other viable option than to keep this car. If he abandoned it in favor of finding another one, it might just take him a couple of hours before he was able to steal another one. And he didn't have that kind of time to waste. At least this car had a full tank of gas, which he knew he was going to need in order to get to Willow Springs.

So Dean kept a careful lookout for any sign of law enforcement as he zigzagged through the back streets of Jefferson. Although it probably took him twice as long to cut through town, he avoided all the main roads until he finally made it to the outskirts of town. Before he turned onto the main road to get to the highway, he double-checked for police vehicles. With none in sight, he accelerated rapidly and drove onto the highway. As he merged into the ever-present highway traffic, Dean realized just how extremely tired he felt. And it was going to take him at least 3 hours to get to Willow Springs.

And he didn't even have any good music to listen to.

This was going to be one heck of a long drive.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John stared wide-eyed at the police officer. "You want me to do what?" he asked in disbelief.

"Come back to the station with me," replied the officer unemotionally. "I'd like to ask you some questions about your son's disappearance."

"That's what I thought I heard," answered John angrily. "Exactly what type of questions are you planning to ask me? You think I had something to do with this? You think I'd set my own son on fire? And watch him die?"

"Mr. Winchester," sighed the officer politely. "I don't know what happened in there. All I know is that one minute your son was in that bed and the next minute he was gone. And you were the only one at his bedside when he disappeared."

"So that makes me a suspect?"

The police officer just looked at John for a moment without responding. This was hard enough to begin with but under the circumstances, he couldn't help thinking that John had somehow staged the fire in order to help his son escape police custody.

"I wouldn't say you're a suspect," he finally stated. "But the circumstances surrounding your son's death are suspicious to say the least. And I'd like you to answer some questions to help clear this up."

"And what makes you think I can provide you with any answers?" spat John vehemently.

"I'd really rather we discussed anything you can tell me about his disappearance down at the station," replied the officer flatly.

"About his disappearance? You think he just disappeared? That he didn't die in that fire? That I helped him get up and walk outta here?" shot back John irrationally. "He was in critical condition, unconscious and hooked up to every piece of medical equipment imaginable! You think he just leapt out of the bed and walked out the door while the fire burned to hide his escape? You think that this was all just smoke and mirrors? You were standing right outside that door before you ventured inside. You'd have seen him leave. There's no other way out of here."

"Sir," replied the officer, resolutely, "You must admit that you have very strong reasons for wanting him to evade arrest."

"And I have stronger reasons for wanting him alive!"

"Gentlemen," interrupted the fire chief who had been patiently standing to the side. "I think it would be best if we delayed this conversation for a little while longer." He turned to the officer, "Pete, I think this can wait, don't you? Mr. Winchester has been through a lot these past few days. I think it would be a good idea to let him go see his son. I doubt he's going to leave town any time soon."

The police officer looked at the fire chief before he glanced back at John. "I suppose not. But I'm not going anywhere either. And our forensic officers will be here shortly to go over the scene."

John glared at him before he turned and headed into ICU. As he walked through the door, he took a deep breath. That hadn't been as hard to do as he had imagined it might be. Even though he knew that the creature had not been his son, it was easy to pretend that it had been. All he had to do was remember his initial reaction as he had watched the likeness of his oldest son burst into flames.

Of course, all those years of telling half-truths and lies didn't hurt either.

John wandered slowly over to Sam's bed. Now that he was back in ICU, a feeling of unease came over him. He stared at Sam's inert form and wished that he would wake up so that he could convince him that he was indeed his son. John was having trouble believing his own instincts right now. For three days he had honestly believed that the other creature had been Dean. It was only when the creature had decided to reveal itself to him that he had known any different. It hadn't been because he had been able to sense it or figure it out on his own. And, for that reason, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to tell with Sammy either.

As he continued to watch his son, John's mind flew off into unwanted territory. What if this 'thing' in front of him wasn't really Sammy but was actually the demon that he and his boys had been seeking for so many years? What if the other creature had only done what it did in order to lull him into a false sense of security? What if this thing that looked exactly like his youngest son was only waiting until Dean arrived so it could destroy them both? What if this demon was too powerful for them to kill? What if this really was Sammy but he had already been possessed? What if the demon had already killed Sammy and was only using his body as a guise?

There were a million '_what ifs_' running through his head. And no definite answers to any of them.

John shook his head to clear his mind. He was sure that he was going crazy. There were just too many unanswered questions. And too many possibilities. But he was going to have to keep it together until Dean arrived. And if it really was Dean, then he should be able to clear up some of the unanswered questions about what had happened to the two of them in the months since he had last seen them in Chicago. And then they'd have to wait until Sammy woke up to find out what had happened between the last time Dean was with him up until the time John had come upon the accident.

And with any luck, their stories would jive and be able to put some of his fears to rest.

As John struggled with his trepidations, he reached down to touch Sam's arm, hoping that the physical contact would help alleviate some of his unease. He gently wrapped his fingers around Sam's hand to reassure himself and he remained that way for a few minutes, taking comfort in the unabashed feeling of affection that swept over him. It had been a long time since the two of them had been close. Other than when he had met them in Chicago, it had been ages since they had seen each other. And he had said some nasty things to Sammy then. He hadn't meant any of them; he had only said them during the heat of the argument. And he certainly hadn't wanted Sam to stay away for so long. He just hadn't believed that he would. But that was the thing. Sammy had always surprised him.

He had surprised him when he was younger with how he could always fit in with the crowd in whatever place they moved to. How he could always make friends yet keep enough distance from them that he was successfully able to hide their lifestyle. How he always maintained his studies but could always be counted on to obtain all the background research they needed for their current hunt. How he could present himself to the world as a wholesome, normal teenager and turn into a ruthless, determined hunter in a blink of an eye.

And now John was praying that he would surprise him again with a quick - and full - recovery. Because John had seen the accident and it was a wonder that anyone had survived at all.

As he stood quietly at the side of the bed, John realized just how little he knew his youngest son now. In the years since he had left for college, Sam had transformed from a gangly teenager into a competent young man. John wondered whether it would ever be possible for them to make up all that lost time. And it was with a feeling of deep regret that John released Sam's hand, letting it rest once again on the bed.

John knew that he was going to have to leave shortly and go down to the police station to answer their questions. There was no way he'd be able to get around it. And he'd have to be able to act with the right mix of horror, sorrow and disbelief at what he had seen in order to be believed. Even though he had the entire nursing staff to back up his story. Not to mention the fact that the police officer had witnessed some of it too. He knew that it was still his story that would remain suspect.

John wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. He had to be finished by the time Dean arrived in Willow Springs. Because he would have to meet him somewhere far enough away from the hospital that no one would see him and recognize him. He couldn't chance him coming there. And before he met up with Dean, he was going to come back to the hospital to reassure himself that Sammy was okay before he disappeared yet again. And he only had about three hours to accomplish all that.

So John slowly backed away from Sam's bed. He kept his eyes glued to Sam's face - in case his eyes opened to reveal that what was lying in that bed was something other than his youngest son. But nothing untoward happened and, as John neared the door, he turned quickly and headed into the hallway.

John immediately walked toward the police officer. As he approached him, John said quietly, "I'm ready to go. I'd just like to get this over with."

The police officer nodded and the two men headed toward the elevator. As they exited the building, John noticed the forensic team walking across the parking lot toward the hospital.

John looked at the police officer and asked, "Would it be possible for me to follow you in my truck? I'd like to be able to get back here as soon as we're through."

Seeing as he wasn't under arrest, the officer had no reason to deny John his request. He waited while John drove his truck out of the parking lot before he pulled out of his parking spot in front of the hospital and led the way toward the police station.

At the station, John was offered a coffee - which he accepted - and then was shown to a small room where he was asked to wait. He'd been questioned by the police before and he knew that they often used this tactic to make a suspect nervous. He knew they'd be watching him, looking for any behavior that might seem out of the ordinary. But what would be out of the ordinary in a case like this? A case where someone had apparently watched his son burn up in a raging inferno.

He didn't have to wait long before the same officer that had been at the hospital entered the room. He sat across the table from John and began to ask him questions. At first the questions were pretty routine and had mostly to do with the accident that had brought them all into town. Slowly the officer steered the questioning toward what had happened earlier that night. Aside from omitting the parts about the creature opening its eyes and speaking to him, John told the officer exactly what had happened. Although the officer made him go through it a few times, John's story remained consistent and, just over an hour after he had arrived, the police officer told John that he had no further questions. He did, however, mention to John that he shouldn't leave the area while the investigation into Dean's death was ongoing.

John left the police station just as the sun was beginning to rise and he drove back to the hospital in order to check on Sam. His feeling of apprehension seemed to increase the closer he got to the hospital. As he parked the truck and walked toward the hospital, John began to worry once again about leaving the hospital to meet up with Dean. Although he still believed that the creature had vanished because both he and Dean were back to stay with Sam, he found that the more time passed, the less convinced he became. And if that was true, then what would happen when they were both miles away from Sam? Because John knew that it could be hours before he'd be able to come back.

But it had been the creature's words that had reinforced his belief that it had been guarding Sam.

'_Only Sattva shall vanquish Mephistopheles_.'

Why else would it have bothered to impart that knowledge to him? And, although John had long suspected who their foe was, he had never had any proof. Not until the creature had uttered it.

But he still had no idea how Sammy was tied into all of this.

And, of course, he realized that it could all have been a ruse.

As he entered the ICU, he noticed that the forensic team was still hovering around the bed that 'Dean' had occupied. He figured that, given the strange circumstances, their investigation would be very thorough. Few people actually believed in Spontaneous Human Combustion, even though there were documented cases all around the world. And up until a few short hours ago, he hadn't really believed in it either.

John went and stood by Sam's bed, quietly watching him just as he had for the past few days. The bruising on his face was starting to fade and he had gained a bit of color in his skin. John marveled at how he simply looked like he was asleep. But every so often, Sam's body would tremble slightly as if he were shivering and John wondered whether that was simply nerves or if his son was dreaming - or remembering - something that disturbed him.

Suddenly Sam twitched violently and he shot straight up in his bed. His eyes opened, fixing John with an eerily vacant stare and he called out "_Dean! Come here! I need your help!_"

But just as abruptly as he had bolted upright in the bed, Sam fell back against the mattress and lay still. His sudden outburst caused two of the nurses to come running to his bedside. John stepped backwards to stay out of their way as they checked Sam's vital signs. Yet his overall condition hadn't changed; the outburst being a fairly normal occurrence for a comatose person. It was an encouraging sign all the same as it meant that his mind was functioning and hopefully working on restoring his consciousness.

But the outburst disturbed John more than he wanted to admit. What was going on in Sam's mind that he would need his brother's help? Hoping to ease his mind John remained at Sam's bedside for the next 15 minutes, praying that Sam would wake up before he had to leave. But it was as if Sam had never moved; he just lay silently in the bed, not moving a muscle.

Finally, John decided that he had to go. He still had to find an out-of-the-way location to meet Dean. Somewhere where the police weren't likely to find them. And John was going to have to take extra precautions to make sure that they weren't following him. In all likelihood, the police would be monitoring his movements while they conducted their investigation into Dean's death. After all, this was the second time they had a record of him dying.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean estimated that he was about twenty minutes outside of Willow Springs when he decided to pull off the highway and call his father. He drove into a little town just off the highway and parked the car behind a dumpster in the back of a small diner. In order for the police to see the car, they would have to drive right into the parking lot and come around behind the dumpster. But, seeing as there were plenty of parking spots in front of the diner, Dean didn't think it likely that they would spot the car.

Still, he wasn't prepared to be discovered driving the car if the police did happen to find it, so he carefully wiped the interior clean of fingerprints before he got out. Then he wiped down the driver's door, taking extra care to wipe the door handle. After he was finished, he leapt over the fence that surrounded the other three sides of the small diner and sprinted about a block down one of the side streets. Then Dean pulled out his phone and called his father.

After only one ring, John's answered the phone, "Where are you?"

"Hi Dad," responded Dean sarcastically. "Nice talking to you too. Is Sammy with you?"

Dean's question caught John by surprise. It wasn't that he thought Dean didn't care about Sam; it was just that he wasn't prepared for the question, and his hesitation warned Dean that something was wrong.

"Dad…Where's Sammy?"

"He's here. In Willow Springs," John answered bluntly.

"Is he there with you? Because he won't answer his phone. He has it turned off."

"Dean," offered John, more compassionately, "Sammy can't come to the phone right now."

"Why not? What's wrong?" asked Dean fretfully.

"Dean, I can't explain right now. Just tell me where you are."

"Dad, what's wrong with Sam?" persisted Dean.

"Dean! You're wasting time. I'll tell you everything when you get here. Now…just tell me where you are!"

Dean sighed. He knew he wasn't going to win this battle and if he wanted to know what was happening, he'd have to comply with his father's wishes.

"I'm in a small town about twenty minutes outside of Willow Springs."

"Good," replied John gruffly. "Don't come into Willow Springs. The police will be looking for you."

"Why?" asked Dean quizzically. They couldn't possibly have connected him to the stolen vehicle. "They already think I'm dead, don't they?"

"It's a little more complicated than that," stated John, knowing that Dean was referring to the incident in St. Louis. "But we're going to have to be very careful when we meet. There's a truck stop about 10 miles outside of town on the main highway. I want you to meet me there. But don't go inside. There are three small, unused buildings behind the restaurant. One of them is recessed a bit behind the others. I'll meet you inside that one in about half an hour."

"Better make it 45 minutes or an hour," replied Dean. "I'm going to have to ditch this car before I get to the truck stop. It won't take the police long to discover that it's stolen."

John knew that it was routine for the police to run the license plates of vehicles that were parked at truck stops so there was a little bit of exasperation evident in his voice when he asked, "You didn't steal it from a gas station, did you?"

Dean avoided answering the question directly. "I hadn't planned on driving it halfway across the state when I took it." Then he switched gears and asked the question that had been disturbing him for the past three hours, "Can you at least tell me that Sammy's okay?"

"Dean, we'll talk when you get here," stated John forcefully. He had no idea what Dean knew or even when he had last seen Sam but he didn't want to discuss it over the phone. Then without giving Dean a chance to argue he stated sternly, "Be at the truck stop in 45 minutes" before he abruptly ended the call.

He hated doing that to his son but, under the circumstances, John didn't see that he'd had any alternative.

Once again, Dean was left listening to a dial tone and he slammed his phone shut. Why wouldn't his father tell him what was going on? And why wasn't Sammy available? There were so many questions flooding his mind and Dean knew the only way he was going to get any answers was to get to the truck stop as soon as he could.

Dean ran back to the car and cautiously drove back to the highway. Although he urgently wanted to meet up with his father, he realized that it wouldn't do him any good if he threw caution to the wind and ended up getting pulled over by the police in his haste to get to the truck stop.

The road was busier now that it was daylight. Dean merged into the traffic, positioning the car between two other vehicles to keep the police from driving up behind him and recognizing the stolen car. Dean had never been to Willow Springs and had no idea where the truck stop was. So he decided that he would keep driving until he saw it and ditch the car somewhere on the other side. Then he'd double back on foot to find his father.

It only took about 20 minutes for Dean to get to the truck stop. That gave him 25 minutes to hide the car and get back to the truck stop. About a mile down the road he turned off the highway onto a secondary road. Now he just had to find a good place to leave the car. He didn't want to just leave it on the side of the road. That would make it too easy for the police to find. But he didn't want to conceal it so well that it would take months for someone to come across it either.

Dean slowed the car as he drove down the road so he could watch for any signs of a pathway or seldom used laneway. If he could pull onto one of those, the tire marks on the side of the road wouldn't draw any immediate attention. But if he parked the car just out of sight, then it wouldn't be discovered right away either. He'd be able to meet up with his father without worrying that the police were going to converge on the area.

If didn't take long for Dean to find what he was looking for and he turned onto a narrow dirt road that looked like it was probably a pathway to enter the adjoining field. The grass in the field was overgrown, but it wasn't quite tall enough to conceal the car. But a little further down the roadway Dean saw a small cluster of trees and there's where he decided he was going to hide the car. The trees were growing close enough together that he'd be able to park the car behind them, but if anyone looked close enough, they'd still be able to see the car.

Dean drove into the middle of the group of trees and parked. After wiping down the interior of the car, he exited the vehicle and did the same thing to the outside of the door. Then he found some downed branches and leaned them against the side of the car for extra camouflage. Once he had finished concealing the car, Dean used another branch to obliterate the tire marks on the ground where he had turned into the trees. Satisfied that he had covered his tracks, Dean jogged back toward the road and checked for police cars before he ran across and disappeared into the bush on the other side.

Dean made his way through the bush and back to the truck stop. He looked at his watch when he reached his destination and was pleased to discover that he still had five minutes to get to the building where he was to meet his father. He was relieved that he had made it on time because he knew that, if he had been late, he'd never hear the end of it.

Dean followed the tree line up to the front of the truck stop before he sprinted across the parking lot where he could get lost amidst the 18-wheelers that were parked out front. Dean had noticed that the buildings his father had told him about were located closer to the other side of the restaurant so he walked casually through the mass of people milling around the trucks. He wouldn't draw any unwanted attention to himself walking through this crowd of transient misfits as long as he acted normally. So he nonchalantly strode through them until he reached the other side of the restaurant where he quickly ducked to the side and kept close to the wall while he made his way to the back of the building.

A quick glance around the property revealed no sign of anyone so Dean raced toward the sheds and over to the building where he was to meet his father. Even though he didn't sense any type of danger, Dean was still cautious as he backed up to the door, keeping a sharp lookout for any unwanted visitors before he gently turned the door handle to see if, by chance, it was unlocked. To his surprise, the door was indeed unlocked and he hesitated before he opened it.

It always bothered him when things were too easy and he wondered briefly if maybe this was a trap. It wasn't like they hadn't come across one before. But, he was supposed to meet his father in this shed, so Dean pushed his concerns to the back of his mind and quietly slid through the door and into the building.

It was relatively dark inside the shed. The windows were boarded up but they still allowed a bit of light to filter in through the spaces between the slats of wood. Dean looked around the interior of the building and noticed a small wooden workbench off to one side. That would be the perfect place to hide until his father arrived. But as he walked over to the table he heard a noise behind him. Before he could move another inch, he heard a voice behind him.

"You're late."

Dean took a deep breath before he glanced down at his watch. Forty-seven minutes. It had taken him forty-seven minutes to get here and his father was complaining that he was late.

"Well, I'm here now," stated Dean flatly, turning around to face his father. "Care to tell me what's going on?"

But John didn't answer. Instead, he rapped the butt-end of his gun brutally on the top of Dean's head, knocking him out cold.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean awoke with a start, only to discover that, while he had been unconscious, someone had gone to a lot of trouble to restrain him. His arms had been bound tightly over his head and his legs were stretched out and strapped apart. With his memory gone and no recollection of what had happened to him, Dean couldn't think of any logical reason why he had been tied up.

Keeping his eyes closed to avoid detection if anyone was nearby, Dean discretely tested the restraints by gently pulling on them, but it didn't take him long to realize that, based on the way he had been restrained, whomever had tied him up knew exactly what they were doing. There was very little play in the bindings that held his legs, making it next to impossible for him to move them even a few inches. And, without even bothering to look, he could tell that his hands had been secured with handcuffs.

Not hearing any noise to indicate that anyone was around, Dean opened his eyes ever so slightly to check on his surroundings. When he didn't detect any movement in his perhipheral vision, he opened his eyes wider and immediately saw what looked to be the outline of some sort of drawing etched into the ceiling directly above him. But, as a result of being hit on the head, Dean's eyesight remained hazy so he had to squint to bring the image into focus. As the drawing slowly became clearer, Dean thought that he somehow recognized the crudely-drawn symbol. He just couldn't remember how. He only knew that it was familiar. Doing his best to ignore the headache that threatened to make his head explode, he stared intensely at the image, trying desperately to remember. But his memory remained foggy and he found it extremely difficult to concentrate. Then, out of nowhere, it came to him:

It was the same magic circle they had used at Bobby's to trap Meg.

So why would he possibly be strapped to a bed below a demon protection circle?

Unable to recall anything that had happened before he lost consciousness, Dean still couldn't understand why he was in this predicament. Deciding that his best chance of remembering what had happened was to try to figure out where he was, Dean slowly glanced around the room. As near as he could tell, he was being held in a small motel room. And, based on the outdated, sleazy décor, it obviously wasn't in a high-class establishment either. It looked more like the type of place that he and his family had been frequenting ever since he was a child.

And then he remembered.

Dad.

He had gone to the truck stop outside of Willow Springs to meet up with his father. He remembered slipping into the shed behind the restaurant to wait for him. Except it had turned out that his father was already there. Because the last thing he could remember was his father's gruff voice telling him that he was late.

But, if that was true, none of this made any sense. Why would his father tie him up? And if he hadn't done it, who did? And, if someone else did it, what had happened to his father? And what possible reasons did they have for tying him up?

Deciding that it wasn't in his best interests to just wait around to find out, Dean glanced up at his hands to see if there was any chance he might be able to wrench them free. But the handcuffs were threaded neatly around the heavy slats of the headboard and there didn't appear to be much likelihood that he'd being able to break them. Still, it was worth a try so Dean yanked as hard as he could on the cuffs. But, just as he had suspected, they didn't give an inch. He tried again but obtained the same result so he grabbed the chain joining the handcuffs to get a little extra leverage before he tugged on them one more time. But, no matter how hard he heaved on them, the slats just wouldn't budge.

Who'd have thought that the beds in this dilapidated motel would actually be well-made and in half-decent shape? Temporarily discouraged, Dean fell back against the mattress, trying desperately to come up with another plan to facilitate his escape.

But just as he relaxed, his father's voice broke the silence, "Don't tell me you've given up already?"

"Dad?" asked Dean hopefully, raising his upper body off the mattress and looking toward the foot of the bed for his father.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" queried Dean in annoyance, still trying to locate his father. "What do you mean _maybe_?"

"It all depends on who _you_ are."

"_Who I am_? What? Are you kidding me?" replied Dean in disbelief. "All of a sudden, you can't recognize your own son?"

"Oh, I know who you look like," responded John matter-of-factly as he stepped to the side of the bed and into Dean's line of sight. "But unfortunately that doesn't prove anything."

"What do you mean it doesn't prove anything?"

"You could be something else entirely."

"Like what?"

"You tell me."

Dean stared quizzically at his father before he responded in an exasperated tone, "Dad, you know I already killed that shapeshifter in St. Louis. That's why the police think I'm dead." Nodding toward the ceiling, he added, "Besides, that circle wouldn't hold a shapeshifter anyway. It only works on demons. At least that's what it said in that Key of Solomon book. "

"Exactly," answered John flatly.

Dean looked questioningly at his father and asked incredulously, "You think I'm some kind of a demon?"

"I don't know what you are. But I'm not taking any chances until I can be sure."

Dean continued to stare at his father while he tried to figure out why he would possibly think that he was some kind of supernatural creature. He hadn't done anything to warrent this kind of suspicion and, if his father was actually this concerned about it, there were ways to determine if he was actually something other than what he appeared to be.

Hoping to dispel his father's fears, Dean asked, "Why don't you just throw some holy water on me and see what happens."

"Because it doesn't always work," shrugged John dispassionately.

"That's a new one," shot back Dean in disbelief. "I never heard that before."

"Absolute evil could neutralize its effect."

"Really?"

"It's been known to happen."

"What about an exorcism?" suggested Dean. "That'll send anything evil back to hell."

"An exorcism only works if you've been possessed," stated John informatively. "And I don't think you are."

Dean's exasperation was evident when he enquired, "What exactly is it that you think I am?"

"I'm still waiting for you to tell me."

Dean cast his father a sideways glance. "Dad…It's me...Dean. Your oldest son...The one you abandoned in Jefferson...Remember?"

John smirked but he didn't respond.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Look Dad…I don't know what you want me to do - or say. Can't ya just give me a hint or something?"

John slowly shook his head. "Sorry. Can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll have to convince me on your own."

"How am I gonna do that?"

"You'll think of something."

"Well, can you at least untie me until I do?" pleaded Dean in desperation. "This really isn't that comfortable. And, besides, that protection circle you drew on the ceiling should contain me if I'm really half as bad as you seem to think I am."

"It's the other half I'm worried about."

"The other half?" asked Dean completely mystified. But then it dawned on him that his father was worried that he might actually be something far more sinister than just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill demon. "You think that I might be the devil?"

John didn't answer. Instead he went over and sat in a chair by the window. He leaned back, crossed his legs and sat there, silently observing Dean.

Frustrated with his father's lack of empathy, Dean shot him an angry glare before he viciously declared, "You know, if I really was the devil, I'd be so pissed off right now, that I'd break out of these restraints just so I could go over there and kick your ass!"

Unaffected by Dean's hollow threat, John replied evenly, "The devil doesn't leave hell. He sends his soldiers out." Staring intently at his son, he added, "But Dean already knows that."

"Is that so?" utterred Dean in complete frustration. "Because, it doesn't appear that I know too much right now. Other than this whole thing is nuts! And you've gone completely off the deep end!"

"Have I?"

Dean stared at his father, trying desperately to control his rage. But as he watched him, Dean came to the stark realization that this wasn't a game. His father was dead serious and, if he expected to be released any time this century, he was going to have to convince his father that he really wasn't anything supernatural.

"Yes Sir," he replied quietly before he immediately realized the implication of his response, Dean corrected himself and stated hurriedly, "No Sir."

"Well, that'd be a start," smirked John.

Encouraged by the sudden and unexpected change in his father's demeanor, Dean implored suspiciously, "You're not doing this to get back at us for making sure you weren't possessed before we released you back in Jefferson, are you? You aren't just mad that we sprinkled you with holy water first?"

"No," answered John indifferently, not letting on that he had no idea what Dean was talking about. "Because I was never in Jefferson with you." He watched closely for Dean's reaction as he continued "Whoever that was, it certainly wasn't me."

Dean shut his eyes in defeat. He found this conversation both annoying and frustrating; it just seemed to be going around and around in circles. He opened his eyes and asked discouragingly, "If it wasn't you, then who was it? Because it sure as hell looked like you."

"It was probably another friend of yours. Someone just like you."

"Right" replied Dean, rolling his eyes. Not only did his father think he was probably some kind of demon, now he was suggesting that he was in cahoots with a demon-double of himself. "And my other buddy was that guy that was intent on making mashed potatoes out of Sammy's head in the alleyway." Dean took a deep breath before he added sarcastically, "Because you know how much something like that would get me off."

John remained silent. He leaned forward in the chair, placing his forearms on his legs. He stared at Dean apathetically for a minute, just watching him and thinking. Although it had been said in jest, Dean may have inadvertently just provided the explanation behind the multitude of bruises on Sam's face. Still watching him intently, John decided to trust him just a little bit - to see what else he could learn.

"Dean," John began, his voice much softer than it had been before, "I know this probably sounds crazy to you, but I haven't seen you or Sammy since that incident with the shadow demons in Chicago."

Dean furrowed his brow and wondered what exactly was his father talking about? He'd been with them for months. They'd gone to Salvation together to track down the demon. His father had only left them in Salvation when he went to Lincoln to meet up with Meg. But he'd been captured and taken to Jefferson. And that's where they'd rescued him - right before Dean had been thrown into that car and left unconscious in the alley. And that was the last thing that Dean could say he knew for certain; other than he'd met his father at that truck stop and for some unknown reason had ended up here.

"You haven't seen us since Chicago?" asked Dean skeptically. "Then who's been with us for the last few months? A doppleganger?"

"Looks that way."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No, Dean. I'm not," stated John emphatically. "I haven't seen or heard from you or Sammy since we parted ways in Chicago."

Dean stared intensely at his father, looking for any sign that he was pulling his leg. But there was nothing to indicate that he was. As far as he could tell, his father wasn't joking. And, if he hadn't seen them since Chicago then that meant that his father hadn't been with Sam after he'd been thrown into that car. And if that were true...

"So where the hell is Sammy?" asked Dean urgently. "You told me on the phone that he was with you."

John inhaled deeply before he answered, "I'm pretty sure he's in the hospital in Willow Springs."

"_You're pretty sure he's in the hospital?_" repeated Dean, his frustration rising. "You havin' trouble remembering what he looks like too? Because, maybe what you need is a pair of glasses."

"Dean, I already told you this was complicated."

But Dean couldn't contain his anger - or his anxiety over his brother - any longer. He still didn't really understand why his father doubted who he was and now it turned out that he didn't even have a clue where Sam was. He glared angrily at his father as he spat venomously, "Where's Sammy?What did you do to him? The same thing you're doing to me? Only you hurt him, didn't you? That's why he's in the hospital."

"Dean, take it easy," cautioned John warily.

"Not until you tell me what's happened to Sammy," replied Dean through clenched teeth, "And, if you hurt him, so help me God…" he challenged as he pulled violently against the restraints, renewing his efforts to free himself, .

"Dean…you have to relax," commanded John as he rose and went over to the bed. He grasped Dean's hands with one hand to stop him from pulling against the restraints while he placed the other one on his son's chest and forced him back down onto the mattress. John could feel Dean's heart pounding rapidly beneath his hand as he held him still. Dean's eyes overflowed with venomous hatred as he glared at his father and John instantly recognized the look he was getting as the one that Dean shot at anyone who he thought might pose even the slightest danger to his brother. Watching him intensely, John was struck with the unmistakeable feeling that Dean was actually fixing him with a nonverbal death threat. And John realized that if this wasn't truly his eldest son, he didn't know who it could possibly be. Because who - or what - else could possibly duplicate that look so expertly?

"Dean," John offered, "If you'll just calm down, I'll untie you." He looked questioningly at him and continued, "But you're going to have to promise to listen to what I have to say."

"So, now you're just gonna untie me? And let me go?" questioned Dean, still extremely agitated. "Without anything to prove who I really am?"

"I have enough proof," conceded John bluntly as he realized his hold on Dean. "To at least untie you right now."

"Oh...now you have proof? But ten minutes ago, you didn't," challenged Dean irritably. "What the hell type of proof did you manage to get in that time? Because I don't recall giving you any."

"Just some of the things you said," replied John as he pulled the key to the handcuffs out of his pocket. "And the way you reacted about Sam."

"That's it?" queried Dean in disbelief. "That's all it took?"

"That...and the fact that I'd already used holy water and attempted an exorcism while you were unconscious," confessed John. "Not to mention the incantations I recited that were guaranteed to banish all types of demons back to hell. But nothing happened."

"So, you already knew it was me?" asked Dean, his anger rising once again.

"Let's just say I suspected," stated John stoically. "But I'm still not one hundred per cent convinced."

"But you're gonna let me go anyways?"

"You'll still be contained within the protection circle."

"And you'll be in here with me," challenged Dean, once again fidgetting to escape. "That won't provide you much protection."

John looked down at his eldest son and simply said, "I could knock you out again before I let you go."

Dean stopped moving and glared at his father but he resisted arguing any further. Once John was convinced that Dean had settled down, he quickly undid one of the handcuffs but as soon as he had removed it from Dean's wrist, he slipped it around one of the slats in the headboard and snapped it shut before he stepped away from the bed and out of the circumference of the protection circle. Standing safely back from the bed, John tossed the keys toward Dean and they landed by his side

Dean grabbed the keys with his free hand and unlocked the remaining cuff. With is hands now free, Dean sat up in the bed and reached down to untie the bindings around his feet. But the ropes were too tightly bound and he was unable to undo them with his hands.

"Use this," stated John as he tossed a small pocketknife onto the bed beside Dean.As Dean reached for the knife, John grabbed the gun from the waistband of his jeans and aimed it directly at Dean's chest. "Just don't try anything or I will shoot."

Dean glanced at his father and muttered angrily, "Nice to know you trust me so much," as he sliced through the binding that was securing his right foot.

"It's just an extra precaution," stated John without lowering the gun.

Once he had freed himself, Dean casually swung his legs over the side the bed, but remained sitting as he gently rubbed his wrists where the handcuffs had been. He looked at his father and asked, "Now what?"

Pointing with the gun, John motioned toward a chair at the far end of the room and stated, "Go sit there."

Dean stood up, rubbed his hands over the front of his jeans and with a final glance at the ceiling, took a few cautious steps away from the bed. As he took the final step out from underneath the protection circle, Dean heard the gun cock and he cast his father a sideways glance. But for his part, John kept the gun trained on Dean as he walked away from the bed and ventured across the room to sit in the aforementioned chair. Once seated, Dean leaned back and held his hands out innocently in front of him. He looked questioningly at his father but refrained from speaking.

Not adjusting his aim, John carefully sat down on the second bed that occupied the tiny room. Keeping the gun sighted steadily on his eldest son, John stated forcefully, "Now...we need to talk."


	9. Chapter 9

Instead of answering him directly, Dean stared sardonically at his father and asked, "You gonna keep that gun pointed at me while we share some special father-son moments?"

"For now," came John's blunt reply, choosing to completely ignore Dean's sarcastic remark.

Dean shrugged, knowing that he had little chance of changing his father's mind. "Any chance you'll tell me what's going on? And exactly why you don't trust me?"

"Maybe later."

"Okayyy…" replied Dean, raising his eyebrows slightly at his father's evasiveness. "How 'bout telling me what's happening with Sammy?"

"I told you...he's in the hospital in Willow Springs."

Dean sighed. "What's wrong with him?"

"He was in a car accident."

"But he's going to be okay, right?" asked Dean anxiously.

"I hope so," replied John before he decided to change the direction of the conversation. "So when was it that you and Sammy thought you met up with me again?"

Dean threw his father another disgruntled look before he answered, "A few months ago...In Colorado. After Daniel Elkins was killed."

"I heard about that," stated John bluntly.

"What? Sammy and I meeting up with you or Daniel Elkins being killed?"

"I heard about Daniel."

"What else did you hear?" enquired Dean.

"Just that he was killed by unknown causes."

"Try vampires," stated Dean decisively.

"Vampires?" asked John skeptically as he lowered the gun momentarily to look directly at Dean. "I thought they were all extinct."

"That's what you said last time," stated Dean irritably. "Right before you told us that most conventional vampire lore is crap too."

"Well, that's because most of it is. You can't kill them with a…"

"Stake to the heart," interrupted Dean, his boredom evident. "I know. The only thing that will kill them is beheading. And they aren't afraid of sunlight either. It just has the same effect as a really bad sunburn. We found all that out when we broke into their lair."

"You broke into their lair? Why did you do that?" asked John suspiciously.

"To retrieve Daniel's gun," stated Dean matter-of-factly.

"What gun?" asked John with renewed interest.

Dean didn't answer. He knew the significance of the gun and why his father's interest had suddenly peaked so he decided to use that information as a bargaining chip. He leaned forward in the chair and stared steadily at his father for a moment. "Uh uh. You first. I wanna know what's going on. Why you don't trust me. Why you think I'm not really me. And what's wrong with Sammy." Then he sat back again and continued, "Then I'll tell you about the gun."

"Dean," warned John sternly.

But Dean just sat motionless in his chair, steadfastly observing his father. It was his turn to get some answers now. Because, he knew why his father was so interested in learning about the gun.

John remained silent for a few minutes, testing his son's reserve. But when Dean didn't make any attempt to kick-start their conversation, John finally relented.

"Alright," he hesitantly conceded, "After I left you and Sam in Chicago, I picked up the demon's trail and went to Lexington. You boys didn't try to contact me again but I figured that was because we had all agreed it would be safer that way. That was, up until four days ago when Bobby phoned me to say that you'd gone to Jefferson. He said you'd trapped a demon at his place who told you that I'd be captured by the demon and taken there. So, that's where I was headed when I came upon an accident about fifteen miles outside of Willow Springs. At first, it just looked like an 18-wheeler had just gone off the road. But when I got out to see if anyone needed help, I realized that the transport had actually broadsided a car. And as I got closer that's when I realized that I recognized the car." John paused and lowered the gun to his lap, but he kept his gaze fixed steadily on Dean.

"So whose car was it?" asked Dean impatiently. He was having a hard time understanding how this story related to anything.

"Yours."

"Mine?" reiterated Dean in disbelief. Trying to get his head around this new piece of information he asked perplexed, "It was my car? Who the hell was driving it?"

"Sammy," declared John brusquely, "And you were in the backseat."

"How the hell could I possibly have been in the backseat?" reiterated Dean in astonishment, "Especially seeing as I was probably in the hospital in Jefferson at that point."

"Probably in exactly the same way that I was sitting in the passenger seat," stated John expressionlessly.

Dean stared apprehensively at his father, still trying to absorb everything and not knowing what – if anything - he should believe. John simply sat and unwaveringly watched Dean, giving him as much time as he needed to take it all in.

Finally Dean spoke warily, "So…Sammy was driving...and you and I were passengers?"

John nodded, "And none of them was conscious."

"So what did you do?"

"I got both you and Sammy out of the car but as soon as I touched the doppelganger, it disintegrated in my hands."

"But my look-alike didn't disintegrate when you touched it?" asked Dean, completely puzzled.

"No," replied John, "No doubt because it was still alive."

"So the thing that was you…was dead?" enquired Dean tentatively, still trying to understand what had happened. "And that's why it disintegrated?"

"I think so," responded John without bothering to elaborate. "And up until early this morning, I thought both you and Sam were in ICU at the hospital in Willow Springs."

"What happened that changed your mind?"

"The first thing was the voice message from you."

Dean tilted his head and raised his eyebrows slightly. He remembered leaving that message and just how pissed off he'd been that his father never answered his phone. "But you thought I was there. In the hospital in Willow Springs recovering from that accident."

"That's right," agreed John. "And, if that was true, there was no way you could have left that phone message. So I went back into ICU to check. To see if I could figure out what was really going on. How you could have left that message."

"And how'd you figure it out?"

"I didn't figure it out. You did."

"_I did?_"

"Well, the creature that was impersonating you did."

Dean sighed. All his father's evasiveness and half-answers were beginning to drive him crazy and he realized how his father must have felt when he and his brother were teenagers and he had tried to drag important information out of them. Because this was worse than pulling teeth. Or being shot with rock-salt. And equally as painful. "Dad," he finally said in exasperation, "You used to give Sam and me heck for not being very forthcoming with information. Now I know where we got it from. Any chance you can speed this up a little and tell me exactly what happened?"

John stared apathetically back at Dean, still unsure how much he should trust him. But he finally relented, "I was standing beside your bed in ICU trying to figure it out when your eyes opened. Only they weren't your eyes. They were demon eyes. Except they were blue, not yellow, like demon eyes usually are. The two of us just stared at each other for a few minutes before it finally spoke to me."

"It spoke to you? What did it say?"

"That's not important right now," dismissed John curtly before he added, "But as soon as it finished speaking, it burst into flames."

"Spontaneous combustion" came Dean's astonished reply. "Of a demon, no less. Must have caused quite a stir in the ICU."

"To say the least," admitted John. "They're still investigating."

"Who is?"

"The police. They had the thing under guard for those murders in St. Louis. They were positive it was you. And then you went and died on them again. That's twice this year. And they're not sure what to make of it. They think I might be involved somehow so they're looking into it really closely. But, right after the creature burned up, I snuck out of the hospital so I could call you. And get you to meet me. I had to find out if it was really you this time."

"And…have I passed the test?"

"Not quite yet," stated John with a small shake of his head, "But you're getting closer." He took a breath before he added, "Now…tell me about Daniel's gun."

"It's the Colt that was made in 1835. The one from the legend. The one that Samuel Colt made especially for hunters - like us. With thirteen bullets that can kill anything."

John stared in disbelief at his son. So it was true. The gun did exist. And Daniel had had it all this time. He had always suspected it but Daniel would never verify that he was actually in possession of it. Or that he even knew that it existed.

John asked warily, "And it was after you boys retrieved the gun from the vampires that I showed up again?"

"No," stated Dean offhandedly. "I found the combination for a drop box etched into Elkin's floor where we found a letter that was addressed to a J.W. We thought it was probably for you but before we could open it, you rapped on the car window. Said you'd been following us since you heard about Daniel. You got into the car and opened the letter, which told us about the gun. But the only thing left at the house was the gun case. Whatever had killed Elkins, took the gun. That's when you told us that Elkins was a vampire hunter. And that vampires actually existed."

"But, did I happen to mention just how bad vampires really are? What it means when they make a resurgence on earth?"

"No. Must have skipped your mind at the time."

"Vampires are really bad news. Basically they're the equivalent of the Anti-Christ."

"The Anti-Christ?" asked Dean in confusion.

"Where Christ gave life and hope to humanity, vampires take it away. They drain the lives of their victims by drinking their lifesource, their blood. And while Jesus died so people could live, vampires kill so they can live."

"So they're the spawn of Satan?"

"More like his Aide-de-Camp or alter ego," corrected John. "Satan doesn't produce offspring directly. He's too afraid they'd eventually try to supplant him. So he creates progenies using lesser demons and satanic creatures that will follow his orders with unfaltering obedience. The resulting creations are vampires. They descend on earth and their only mission is to eliminate mankind. They're evil and extremely effective but, as far as the devil is concerned, they're ultimately expendable. But the fact that they've made a recent reappearance on earth, along with the monumental increase in demonic possessions means that something horrific is about to happen."

"Okay, I get that," replied Dean, "But why did this demon, or whatever it was, take your shape and join up with Sammy and me? Because the entire time that thing was with us, it never did anything even slightly evil. It never tried to hurt us or stop us and it never revealed itself to be anything other than what we thought it was. It even helped us get the gun. If that's what it had been after, why didn't it do anything to us once it had the gun?"

"I don't know," admitted John perplexed. "What happened after it got the gun?"

"It killed the vampire's leader and then it came back with us to the cabin where we were staying. It pulled a couple typical 'you-moves', trying to order us to leave without it. That it couldn't fight the demon if it was worried about us. That it couldn't watch the two of us die. Crap like that. But we managed to convince it that we were stronger as a family and we'd have a better chance of fighting the demon if we did it together. That's when it told us that the demon goes after families, concentrating mostly on six-month old infants. Said the demon always leaves a trail behind it. And that all the signs pointed to it being in Salvation, Iowa. So that's where we went. All three of us. But on the way there, it pulled your truck over and told us that Pastor Jim had been killed. That the demon knew we were close and we had to stop it. We went looking through all the records in Salvation for babies that were turning six months old to prevent the demon from striking again."

"And were you successful in finding the right baby?" asked John hurriedly.

"Yeah. Sam did. In one of his visions. He saw the family, the house and even foresaw the attack by the demon itself."

"Sam has visions? And you never bothered to tell me this before?"

Dean glanced exasperatedly at his father. "You know," he replied, "I can't help but feel that we've had this conversation before. Because that's exactly what you said about his visions then too. And I'm gonna tell you the same thing I said then. It wasn't like you were easy to get a hold of. You never responded to any of our other messages. Why would we think that a message about Sam's visions would be any different?"

"I'm not real crazy about this new attitude of yours, you know," remarked John somewhat angrily. "The way you've taking to speaking to me."

"Yeah, I heard that before too," quipped Dean sharply. "Regardless, you didn't seem overly interested in what we were doing and we were busy. It just never came up. Not until that day. And turned out that Sam was right. It was that family. But before we could go stakeout the house, Sam got a phone call from Meg. She was the girl with the shadow demons from Chicago - and she wanted to speak to you. Told you that she had Caleb and she'd kill him unless you gave her the Colt. You denied knowing anything about it so she killed Caleb. That's when you decided it would be best to go meet her in Lincoln. You left Sam and I in Salvation to stop the demon."

"And that didn't give you a hint that it wasn't really me?" asked John incredulously. "Because you know I would never do that."

"Well, you did," insisted Dean firmly. "Because she said she'd continue to kill all our friends unless you gave her the Colt."

"And that's when I disappeared with the gun?"

"No. You left the Colt with me and Sam. So we could use it to kill the demon. You sent me to buy a fake gun and that's what you took with you to Lincoln."

"And did you stop the demon?"

"We stopped him from taking the baby and killing the mother. But we weren't able to kill the demon. It vanished before Sam had a chance to shoot it. We were trying to get in touch with you when Meg answered your phone and told us we'd never see you alive again."

"And that's when you went to Bobby's?" asked John.

"Uh huh," affirmed Dean. "And that's where we trapped Meg and found out that you were being held captive in Jefferson. So we went there to rescue you."

"What did you do with the Colt?"

"Sam made me leave it in the car after he drew a Devil's Trap on the trunk and turned it into a lockbox. He said demons wouldn't be able to circumvent it and the gun would be safe. Then we went in to get you. But when Sam jumped off the fire escape, someone or something charged him. It was beating the crap outta him. So I left you at the base of the fire escape and went to help Sam. But the thing just looked at me and sent me flying into a car." Dean paused before adding, "And the next thing I knew I was waking up in the hospital in Jefferson. Wondering what the hell had happened to you and Sammy."

"So it must have been after that demon knocked you out, that your doppelganger joined up with Sam too," commented John. "And he must have been with both of them for a day or so. Right up until the accident. When I found them. And my doppelganger disintegrated. But yours stayed with him. Right up until you woke up and called me."

"Yeah," responded Dean, still unable to figure out what the creatures' purposes had been. "What's up with all that? Why would a couple of demons stick with Sam?"

"I'm pretty sure they were guarding him," replied John.

"Guarding him?" queried Dean uneasily. "Why would demons guard Sam?"

"I don't know," answered John. "But I think they were protecting him from Mephistopheles."

"Mephistopheles," whistled Dean lowly. "What makes you think that he'd be after Sam?"

"Because that's what your doppelganger told me."

"My doppelganger told you that he was protecting Sam from Mephistopheles?" asked Dean in astonishment. "That doesn't make sense. Doppelgangers are evil. Or at the very least, they're troublemakers. And seeing your own doppelganger is supposed to be an omen of imminent death."

"That's why I don't think they were doppelgangers. I think they were something else."

"Like what? Some kind of guardian angel" asked Dean mockingly.

"More like a Rakshasa."

"But Rakshasas are Hindu demons. And aren't they immoral and extremely evil?"

"Most of them are," agreed John. "But I think these ones might be followers of Vibhishana."

"Who the hell is he?"

"According to Hindu legend, Vibhishana was Ravana's brother…"

"And Ravana was king of the Rakshasas," interrupted Dean. "But Ravana was exceptionally wicked and he used his armies to prey upon humans."

"While his brother, Vibhishana, was said to possess Sattvic guna."

"That's nice," quipped Dean. "I sure hope it's not contagious."

"Actually," replied John. "Sattvic guna is the force that is required to bring the mind to purity. And right before the creature that was impersonating you burned up, it told me that only sattva will vanquish Mephistopheles."

"Okay, you lost me," admitted Dean with a quick shake of his head.

But before John could elaborate further, his cell phone rang.

"John Winchester."

"Mr. Winchester," came the voice on the other end of the phone. "This is Dr. Logan at the hospital. There had been a sudden change in your son's condition. I think you should get back to the hospital as quickly as possible."

"What happened?" asked John anxiously as he rose from his seat on the bed.

"We think he may be experiencing some sort of catatonic seizure. His body had gone completely rigid and he keeps calling out for your other son. He's foaming at the mouth and he appears to be a state of severe mental distress. Nothing we've given him so far seems to be helping his condition and, unfortunately at this time, his prognosis doesn't look good."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N**; _Okay...first off I owe everyone who's been reading this story a great big apology. I really didn't mean to take so long to update it but I kind of got busy trying to finish another one that I was writing and it took way longer than I thought!_

_Anyway...I'm back to this story now. And I promise I'll finish it this time. And try to update regularly! (That is, as long as people want me to!)_

_So...once again, my sincere apologies before I shut-up and let you read this chapter!_

* * *

"That the hospital?" Dean asked anxiously as soon as John hung up his phone.

Turning to face him, John nodded slowly and answered absently, "Yeah, it was."

"Is Sammy okay?"

"They're not sure."

"_Whaddya mean they're not sure?_ How can they not be sure? Either he's okay or he's not. Which is it?"

John took a deep breath before responding, "They think he's having some kind of a prolonged seizure. And they can't seem to stop it. Or even get him to calm down. He just keeps getting more and more agitated. " He paused before he added, "And he's constantly calling for you."

"For me?"

Again, John nodded. "Yeah. Keeps saying he needs your help."

"My help? With what?" asked Dean, his concern for his younger brother evident in his voice.

"They don't know, Dean," shrugged John. "He never elaborates. Just keeps shouting out for you to come help him."

"And when did that all start?"

"The other day. I was standing beside his bed when, completely out of the blue, he sat upright, screamed out your name and said he need your help. And he looked to be pretty upset about it too."

"But he didn't say what he needed me for?"

"Nope. But, just as quickly as he'd sprung sat up and yelled for you, he flopped back down on the bed. And it was as if he'd never moved. He just lay quietly on the bed again." John took another deep breath before continuing, "But whatever has been bothering him has intensified and he's acting like he's about to have a panic attack. But nothing they've done so far for him has helped. And now, the doctor is afraid that if the seizures don't stop soon, he may never recover."

"Then we better get to the hospital," declared Dean urgently as he rose from his chair. "Maybe it'll help if I'm there and can actually talk to him."

"Yeah…But the only problem with that," responded John woefully, "Is that you can't go."

"_Whaddya mean I can't go!_" challenged Dean as he turned and glared angrily at his father, "You just said that Sammy needs me. So I'm going!"

"Dean," uttered John patiently, "You can't go anywhere near that hospital. They saw you die. Remember? Even you just being in Willow Springs is risky. The police are very suspicious about what happened at the hospital and they're pretty sure I had something to do with it. They've probably placed me under surveillance to see if they can catch us together. And I wouldn't doubt they aren't staked out somewhere nearby waiting for the slightest hint that someone else other than me is in this room so they can bust in and arrest you. And then they'd be able to charge me with harboring a fugitive. And how's that going to help Sammy?"

Dean stared wide-eyed at his father as he plopped back down in the chair he had abandoned only moments before. He had forgotten his own predicament in his rush to help his brother. But he immediately realized the truth in his father's words. There was no feasible way that he could go to the hospital. Which meant that he wouldn't be able to help Sam. No matter how much he needed him.

John watched solemnly as the devastation washed over Dean's face and he knew how much this was hurting him. Dean had spent the better part of his life protecting his brother and he had always done whatever he had to keep him safe. But now, with Sammy seemingly so desperate for his help, he couldn't offer it.

And he was speechless because of it.

John waited for a moment to give Dean a chance to absorb the information before he offered, "I'll call you from the hospital. Just as soon as I have some more information."

"Whatever," muttered Dean halfheartedly before he looked up at his father and stated determinedly, "You better go. Because one of us has to be there with him."

John cast Dean a concerned look before he pulled his keys out of his pocket and headed for the door. But he stopped as he reached it and turned hesitantly back to look at Dean. And, even though he felt like a cad for asking, John nevertheless implored, "Promise me you won't do anything stupid. And that you'll wait here."

"Yeah, I'll wait here," replied Dean unhappily. "Getting arrested isn't going to help Sammy. But Dad…make sure you find some way to let him know I'm okay. And that I'll see him soon."

Looking sympathetically at his eldest son, John simply nodded before he turned and strode quickly out the door. He leapt into his truck and raced to the hospital where he parked as close to the main entrance as he could. He tossed enough change into the parking meter to avoid getting a ticket for at least an hour before he dashed into the building. Not wanting to wait for the elevator, he took the stairs, bounding up them two at a time, until he reached the third floor. Then he rushed out of the stairwell and proceeded toward the ICU. But just before he reached the door he was stopped by a nurse

"Mr. Winchester," she greeted soothingly, "I'm going to have to ask you to wait out here. So, if you'll just take a seat, I'll go in and let the doctor know you're here."

"Is my son okay?" asked John anxiously.

"Dr. Logan will be right out to speak to you," smiled the nurse compassionately before she turned to leave.

But John caught her by the arm and inquired nervously, "Sammy hasn't gotten any worse, has he?"

Again the nurse smiled sympathetically, "I don't believe his situation has changed much since you last spoke to Dr. Logan. But, if you'll just wait here, I'll get him to come and verify that. And he'll be able to explain everything to you then."

John reluctantly took a seat and watched nervously as the nurse disappeared through the door. He had to resist following her in, knowing that to do so, would only be inviting trouble. And he certainly didn't need that; things were screwed up enough already. But the next few minutes seemed like an eternity as he waited for the doctor to come out. Just as he was contemplating going over to glance through the window, the door to ICU opened and a rather young-looking doctor walked into the hall. He glanced around briefly before his gaze fell to John and he immediately started walking toward him. And John anxiously stood up and met him half-way.

"Mr. Winchester," the doctor said as he extended his hand to John, "I'm Dr. Logan. We spoke on the phone."

John shook the doctor's hand and, choosing to avoid the usual pleasantries, he cut directly to the chase, "How's my son?"

"I've given him some medication to help sedate him. But it's not working as well as I had hoped. He's still convulsing rather violently and we were forced to restrain him in order to prevent him for injuring himself - or someone else. But there is a bit of good news," extolled the doctor. "I think he's beginning to come out of his coma. But, it appears that his progress is being impeded by whatever recollection he has of the accident or something else that happened around the same time. I'm sure that his nightmares are somehow related to that and I'm hoping that the sedative will dull those memories just enough that he'll settle down and be able to regain consciousness without going through all that anguish."

John nodded his understanding before he asked hurriedly, "When can I see him?

"You can see him now. But you should prepare yourself before you go in. You might not like what you see. You have to understand that your son is a very strong young man and he's been thrashing around quite aggressively. Because of that we've had to restrain him very securely and, at the moment he doesn't have much room to move. But, as soon as the medication starts to work we'll be able to loosen the restraints."

"I understand," affirmed John hastily, "I don't want him to hurt anyone either. But I still would like to see him."

"And, there's another thing you should know," persevered the doctor, "He may not respond positively to you. He seems to desperately want his brother and hearing your voice instead of his might just aggravate him even more. It's possible that he could decide that you're to blame for his brother not being here. He could easily misconstrue that as a sign that you're trying to keep them apart."

John nodded but refrained from answering. The doctor's last statement alarmed him; he and Sammy had always had somewhat of a volatile relationship and if Sam was going to lay blame on anyone, John knew it would most likely be him. Even when he was in complete control of his senses. But he wasn't; which made it even more likely that he'd lash out at him. Either way, they certainly weren't going to mend any fences.

Satisfied that John understood how delicate Sam's condition was, Dr. Logan led the way back into the ICU with John following closely behind. And while the doctor went over to the nurses' station, John continued walking toward Sam's bed until he reached the foot of it. He stood there watching him, uncertain if he should to get any closer. But after he had remained transfixed in that spot for well over a minute, the nurse who had stopped him in the hallway approached and lightly grabbed his arm just above the elbow. Then, without saying a word, she led him steadily up the length of the bed until he was standing close to Sam's shoulder before she let go of his arm and slowly walked away. Once again John stood there motionless, distraught at his youngest son's condition.

Sam's entire body was trembling uncontrollably; his arms and legs were taut and his hands were tightly clenched as they continually pulled against the restraints that held them firmly to the bed. Heavy beads of sweat were running across his forehead and down both sides of his face. His brow was furrowed as if he was in pain and the protruding veins in his neck were pulsing in time with his accelerated heartbeat. And as John stood there helplessly watching him, Sam suddenly arched his body off the bed, digging his head and his heels heavily into the mattress to support his weight. It was almost as if a strong electrical current was passing right through him and he remained in that contorted position for long enough that his face began to turn red.

But, as abruptly as he had whipped himself into that position, Sam dropped back onto the mattress and for the moment he looked somewhat relaxed. He ceased yanking on the restraints, letting his arms fall limply to his sides. His breathing slowed to a normal pace, followed closely by a decrease in his heartbeat. He looked as if he was simply asleep. And, once again it was difficult for John to reconcile how he looked now with the traumatic outburst that had happened only seconds before.

And then, without any indication, Sam slowly opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling which caused John to inadvertently hold his breath. He watched Sam blink a few times before he turned his head and slowly glanced around the room. It wasn't long before his gaze fell on his father. Sam stared intently at him, scrutinizing him carefully as if he was uncertain who he was. Or why he was there. But John didn't move, choosing instead to let his son make the first move. Sam squinted his eyes, making it look like he was trying hard to remember something.

Then, his voice coming out hoarse and uncertain, Sam laboriously inquired "Dad?"

"Yeah, Sammy. It's me."

Sam continued observing his father for a short period of time before he opened his mouth to speak. But he closed it without saying anything and turned his head in what looked like an attempt to look past John in the direction of the still empty and charred bed beside him. Knowing instinctively that he was looking for Dean, John took a quick step sideways to block Sam's view at the same time as he gently placed his hand on his son's arm. The physical contact was enough to draw Sam's attention back to him and they locked eyes briefly before Sam's eyes slowly closed. Still afraid of stirring up any number of unwanted emotions and memories in his son, John stood motionless at the side of the bed with his hand lightly grasping Sam's wrist.

"Where am I?" croaked Sam raspily as he once again opened his eyes.

"You're in the hospital, Sammy. You've been out for a few days but you're gonna be okay now."

"There was an accident," Sam recounted uncertainly.

"Yes," replied John without elaborating further. He was going to let Sam remember on his own.

Sam furrowed his brow and tried hard to remember. But the memories remained elusive and he couldn't piece together the myriad of images that were running amok in his mind. And the only thing he thought that he could remember was that Dean had been seriously hurt before the accident and was in desperate need of medical attention. So when Sam finally spoke, he asked the one question that John had been dreading:

"Where's Dean?"

John glanced at the doctor who had returned to Sam's bed and now stood on the other side. John sighed; he had hoped that the doctor would stay away long enough for him to reassure Sam that Dean was indeed safe. But now, with the doctor standing only inches away, there was no way for John to tell Sam the truth. And as he mentally struggled to find a clandestine way to answer Sam's question, Dr. Logan temporarily solved the problem for him.

"Sam, I'm Dr. Logan. It's good to finally see you awake. Can you look this way, please?"

Sam turned his head slowly and stared quizzically at the unfamiliar doctor who immediately took out his penlight and shone it directly into Sam's eyes. The sudden intrusion of the bright light in his eyes caused Sam to jerk his head in the opposite direction as he tightly squeezed his eyes shut. But Dr. Logan grasped hold of his chin and gently turned his head back to face him.

"I'm sorry Sam. I didn't mean to startle you. I should have warned you before I did that. But I need to know how your eyes react to the light."

Sam cautiously opened his eyes and squinted distrustfully at the doctor who once again aimed the light at his eyes. Only this time he used a broad sweeping motion to move the light slowly back and forth across Sam's line of vision. He repeated the procedure a few times before he slipped the light back into his jacket pocket and reached for Sam's chart.

Sam turned and looked at his father before he asked worriedly, "Dad…is Dean…is Dean…_is he okay?_"

Dr. Logan loudly cleared his throat, recapturing both Sam and John's attention. "Sam, I want you to rest now. You can talk to your father later."

But Sam wasn't about to give up without first getting a response and he turned back to look at his father. "Where's Dean?" he asked again fretfully, making it painfully obvious that his anxiety was rising. "_Did…did Dean get help?_"

Hoping to alleviate Sam's stress, John tried to sound reassuring when he answered, "Yes, Sammy. They've helped him as much as they can. He's resting now. Just like you need to. We'll have plenty of time to talk later."

John's answer earned him a fleeting glare from the doctor but John ignored him. After all, the man didn't know the truth and as much as he might believe that John had just purposely misled Sam, John wasn't willing to stand by and let his son suffer any more unnecessary anguish. And either his answer had been enough to satisfy Sam or the drugs had finally begun to take effect, because Sam eyes slowly drifted shut and he fell asleep.

John and the doctor moved away from Sam's bed so they could talk without disturbing him. Dr. Logan told John that Sam's pupils had responded well to the light which greatly reduced the possibility that he had suffered any neurological damage. It was also an extremely good sign that he was talking and could remember some events prior to the accident. But he also cautioned John that Sam wasn't out of the woods yet and it would take time to discover if he'd suffered any permanent damage. In the meantime, he would benefit by getting as much rest as he possibly could. But the doctor was worried that the emotional turmoil Sam had experienced while he was in the coma would re-occur and hamper his recovery. So Dr. Logan requested John's permission to keep him medicated.

"Why do you need my permission for that?" John inquired suspiciously, "You've never asked for it before."

"Keeping him medicated now isn't without risks," explained the doctor, "It could inadvertently trigger severe hallucinations."

"But isn't that what you're trying to stop?"

"You have to understand that Sam is in a constant struggle with his subconscious. He wants to remember whatever happened prior to the accident but his subconscious mind is preventing him from doing that. There's a very real possibility that he experienced something very traumatic in the hours leading up to the accident and that's why he's unconsciously repressed the memory. His mind is protecting him from reliving whatever happened because he isn't mentally prepared to deal with it right now. And, throwing medication into the mix could alter his thought patterns enough that his mind mixes reality with fantasy. And that could cause enough emotional trauma for Sam to slip back into a coma."

"So, basically what you're telling me is, he's damned if I do, damned if I don't."

"That's one way of looking at it. But I sincerely believe that his chances of making a complete recovery are much better if we keep him sedated. Otherwise I wouldn't even consider it. But with any luck, the drugs will help to suppress more of his thought patterns and he'll able to rest peacefully and let his mind and body heal."

John took a deep breath and stated, "I'd like to take a few minutes to think this through."

"Please, take all the time you need. He has enough medication in his system right now to keep him sedated for a while," replied Dr. Logan. "And if you do have any further questions or concerns, I'm here until midnight."

John nodded before he and the doctor went their separate ways. John casually wandered over to Sam's bed and looked down at him. For the moment he was peaceful. But John knew that could change in a fraction of a second; he'd seen it himself. Regardless, John knew he had to leave for a few minutes; he'd promised Dean that he would call as soon as he knew anything. And he'd been at the hospital for over an hour. Dean was probably going frantic back in that dungy motel room and, if John knew his oldest son like he thought he did, he was more than likely trying to concoct a plan to sneak into the hospital.

So John reluctantly pushed himself away from the bed and left ICU. He walked down the hall and waited for the elevator while he thought about what the doctor had said. No matter how he looked at it, there didn't seem to be an easy answer. But he'd talk to Dean before he made his decision and see what he thought; after all, he'd been with Sammy for a lot longer and much more recently than John had.

As he walked out of the building, John pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Dean's number. It hadn't even completed a full ring before Dean answered. He was obviously anxious and worried so John took his time explaining everything and he ended with the doctor's request to keep Sammy medicated.

"You can't let them do that, Dad," asserted Dean forcefully.

"Why not?" inquired John, although he was somewhat pleased that Dean at least had an opinion on the matter.

"Because of Sam's visions. They're getting stronger all the time. And he can move things with his mind. He's done it before."

"What do you mean he can move things with his mind?"

"Like telekinesis. He can do that. But as far as I know, he's only done it once. And was when he had a vision that I was going to die and he moved a cabinet out of the way so he could stop it from happening," explained Dean. "So if having him on some sort of mind-numbing medication is going to cause hallucinations, it might screw him up enough that he starts moving things around again. And that could include people if he thought they were getting in his way or something."

John sighed but didn't respond. This was getting more complicated by the minute.

"Dad? You still there?"

"Yeah. I'm here."

"I know this is all new to you. But you can't let them give him anything that's gonna mess up his mind. He's messed up enough already. But he's a strong kid. Hell, he made it through his childhood in one piece. Even made it into college. And he survived Jessica dying and everything else that's happened since then. Whatever memories he's struggling with now can't be any worse than some of the things he's already been through."

"All right, I'll tell them not to do it and we'll see how it goes," agreed John. "But listen, Dean. I gotta get back in there. Check on your brother. I don't want to leave him alone."

"Yeah, I know how you feel," replied Dean half-heartedly. "But Dad…you gotta get him out of there as soon as you can."

"I know Dean. I'm trying. But he hasn't fully regained consciousness yet."

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

John sat by Sam's bed for the next few hours, alternating between staying awake and drifting into semi-consciousness. But he never slept because all his senses were heightened, making him aware of every little movement and every sound, whether it stemmed from the vicinity around his son's bed or anywhere else in the room. He was watching. And waiting. Only he wasn't quite sure for what. But something deep down inside was warning him that something was going to happen and he had to remain vigilant. And he'd been playing this game too long to ignore his instincts.

Besides, whatever was going to happen involved Sam. John was sure of that. There was no other explanation. Why else would those creatures have been with him? Why would they have shown up in the first place if it wasn't to safeguard Sam from something? Or to stop something extremely evil from getting to him. Because in all his years hunting demons, John had never come across anything like this. He'd never encountered any type of reputable supernatural entity before. Never even believed in them. Probably still didn't. Except that there was no other way to rationalize what had happened during the last few months.

Because that's how long they'd been with something that had impersonated him. Something that was obviously good enough that it had even fooled Dean. Because Dean knew him better than anyone else on the planet. Knew how he thought. How he felt. How he acted. And Dean had fallen for this thing's masquerade. Right up until the time he'd been thrown against the car and knocked unconscious. And that had to be when the other creature impersonating Dean must have shown up. To take Dean's place and get Sammy out of the horrible situation he had been in. It had to have worked like that, because somehow or another Sammy had managed to get away from a very powerful demon. One that could throw Dean through the air simply by looking at him.

But just because Sammy had gotten away then, didn't mean that he was out of danger now.

And John didn't know how he could possibly protect him. Not when he didn't really know what he was going to have to protect him from. Sure, he had his suspicions. And they'd been strengthened by the creature's words. He'd thought the demon he'd been hunting for years had to be Mephistopheles. But what exactly did he want with Sammy? What was so important about his son that two other creatures would align themselves with him when neither John nor Dean could?

As John fretted about his son's involvement in Mephistopheles' plan, Sam suddenly started to thrash uncontrollably in his bed. His head whipped violently from side to side while his arms and legs tensed and pulled against the restraints that still secured him to the bed. His body quivered, twitching back and forth as his chest heaved heavily up and down in response to his intense and labored breathing. John immediately jumped up and stared at Sam, not knowing exactly what to do or how to help him as he watched the maniacal frenzy. It wasn't until Sam suddenly sat upright, brutally jerking his arms upward with such force that the restraints broke, that John finally moved. He grabbed him by the shoulders and attempted to ease him back down onto the bed. But Sam fought back viciously, reaching out with both hands and expertly seizing his father by the throat. And as Sam's grip tightened around his neck, John looked deeply into his son's eyes and although they were open and seemingly staring right at him, they were sightless and blank. It was as if there was nothing behind them. Just an empty shell where some semblance of his son should have existed. But he seemed to have disappeared and John knew he had to get him back before it was too late.

His air almost completely blocked off, John wheezed out as loudly as he could, "**_Sammy! Stop!_**"

And, somehow his words produced the desired effect as Sam blinked and stared once again at his father. And the realization of what he was doing hit him immediately and he let go of his father's neck. But John was still holding onto Sam's shoulder's and as soon as he was free of Sam's death grip, John lurched forward and inadvertently shoved his son forcefully down onto the mattress. John quickly regained his balance and stood up. Breathing heavily he looked into Sam's eyes. They stared at each other briefly before Sam once again began to tremble.

And as his eyes rolled back into his head, Sam screamed out, "_Dad! You have to help me!_ _He's coming!_"


	11. Chapter 11

Unsure if Sam's hysteria was real or simply some sort of delusion, John nonetheless realized that he had to deal with it was as it were actually happening. Because, no matter what Sam said or did, the medical staff would assume that his terror was being fabricated entirely in his mind. That it was an unfortunate but highly-anticipated side effect of the medication he'd been given. Or that it was just another attempt to revive his buried memories of what had happened before the accident. But they certainly weren't going to believe that what Sammy was uttering might actually be the truth.

But that's what John had to believe; he just couldn't take the chance otherwise. John had to believe that someone was really after his son. And that whoever it was posed a bona fide threat. Because before Sammy had lost consciousness, he had fervently appealed for his help. And even though he hadn't had the chance to elaborate why, John was positive that Sammy knew. Because Sam had said _he's coming_. Not _it's_ coming or _something's_ coming; but _he's_ coming. Which indicated very strongly that he knew who it was. And, in order to find out, John was going to have to awaken his son.

Which was something that the nurses weren't likely to approve of.

Regardless, he was still going to have to do it.

So John seized Sam's head in his cupped hands and snapped fiercely, "_Sammy!_ Wake up! You can't let him get to you! You have to fight him! Fight him and come back here to me!"

But his desperate plea was ineffectual and Sam remained limp on the bed, his eyes still rolled back in his head. Determined to rouse his son, John tightened his grip on the sides of Sam's head, shaking them gently in the hope that it would help revive him.

"_Fight him Sammy!_" ordered John authoritatively. "_You have to_ g_et away from him!_ Because I can't help you if you don't!"

By now, two of the three nurses on duty had arrived at Sam's bedside. One of them ran up behind John and grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to pull him away from his son while the other dashed around the bed and tried to remove John's hands from around Sam's face. But, based on his physical strength alone, John was able to maintain his position as he increased his efforts to awaken his son.

"Sam! I'm ordering you to wake up!" commanded John, "**_And I want you to do it now!_**"

The ongoing commotion around Sam's bed had finally alerted the sole remaining nurse in the unit who appeared at Sam's bedside just after the shrill drone of an alarm began resonating throughout the unit. And, no doubt, throughout the entire hospital. It had obviously been activated to alert Security to what the nurses considered a problem. And it meant that a couple of security guards were bound to come busting through the door at any time. And John knew that as soon as they arrived they'd do their best to drag him out of the unit and probably ban him from stepping inside the hospital again. So he was going to have to work fast in order to revive Sam. As well as come up with a convincing explanation for what he was doing. Facing a desperate situation John relinquished his hold on his son and did something that he really didn't want to do.

He slapped Sam brutally across the face.

"**_SAM! Wake up now!_**"

John's boisterous outcry and unprecedented assault on his son shocked all three nurses, momentarily paralyzing them as they stared at him in disbelief. But his atrocious and unorthodox method had succeeded as evidenced by the fact that Sam began to stir. His eyelids flickered for a moment before his eyes slowly fluttered open and he gazed up at the ceiling with blank, unseeing eyes and his body began to shake uncontrollably. It immediately became apparent to John that Sam was still caught up in whatever he had been envisioning so he quickly grabbed his son's shoulders and loudly barked out his name causing Sam to flinch involuntarily. Recognizing the rudimentary signs of awareness, John tightened his grip and pulled Sam closer.

"Open your eyes Sam. And look at me," he commanded more soothingly this time.

Sam turned his sightless eyes toward his father's voice and blinked a few times before his muddled gaze settled on John. In his addled stated, he stared uncertainly at his father as if he was trying to determine just how he fit into the frightening scenario playing out in his mind. But he didn't look away nor did he move; he just stared transfixed at his father as if turning away would cause him to fall into a different reality.

It soon became evident that John hadn't succeeded in waking him a moment too soon because, at the same time as Sam opened his eyes, two burly security guards burst into the ICU and grabbed John's arms and yanked him roughly backwards away from Sam's bed. Sam watched his father struggle with the two men, his eye's growing wide and frightened as the confrontation ensued. In his semi-aware state, Sam's perceived the fight as a last-ditch effort by his father to confront the evil that had originally come for him. But as soon it eliminated his father, it would turn its attention back to him. And he just wasn't capable of waging a battle against it. So in a despairing attempt at self-preservation, Sam drew his unbroken leg up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around it before he dropped his head onto his knee and rocked back and forth, muttering incoherently into his chest.

Realizing that the confrontation was distressing the patient, one of the nurses took a decisive step toward the melee, screaming out for them to stop their struggle immediately. The urgent tone of her voice abruptly halted the struggle and all three men stood frozen on the spot as they stared at the nurse who turned toward Sam and despairingly pointed out his affliction. Faced with the troubling condition of his son, John shrugged off the security guards' hold and advanced toward Sam's bed.

He reached out and grabbed Sam's shoulders, forcing him to lift his head and look at him. "Sam! It's okay! I'm okay! I'm here! Look at me!"

With a shaky breath, Sam looked timidly at John. Although his mind was still somewhat clouded and uncertain, Sam recognized his father's voice and he immediately relaxed. But his terror had not been completely dispelled and he seized his father's wrists in a panic, glancing fearfully around the room before he blurted out, "Dad? Where is he? Where did he go?"

Just then Dr. Logan ran into ICU and rushed up to Sam's bed. "What's going on here?" he demanded breathlessly.

"Nothing I can't handle,' stated John forcefully, "If you'd just tell your staff to back off and let me deal with it."

"And what exactly is it that you think you're trying to deal with?" enquired the doctor.

"Sam's nightmares," began John. "He has trouble waking up. He gets confused and…"

"And you think this is how you should deal with it?" interrupted Dr. Logan in annoyance. "Because I can tell you right now that you're wrong!"

"Is that so?" challenged John. "Because Sam happens to be my son and I've been dealing with this for almost his entire life! But you think you can just waltz in here and tell me that I don't know what I'm doing? And that you are the only one who knows how to help him? Because from what I've seen up until now, no one in this hospital seems to be doing such a bang-up job!"

"If he suffers from night terrors…" persisted the doctor, "You can't…"

"It's _not_ night terrors," interrupted John hotly, "He just doesn't wake up completely. And he's not really asleep. He's just disoriented. And if you don't wake him up right away, there's a good chance that he'll get turn violent. Extremely violent. And I don't think that's what anyone here – yourself included – wants."

"That would be why we have him restrained," stated Dr. Logan firmly.

"Yeah?" responded John, "Because I guess you failed to notice that he's already broken your flimsy restraints."

Dr. Logan glanced down at Sam's wrists and feet and for the first time noticed that the restraints were severed and that Sam was indeed unrestrained. "How did he manage…?"

"You said it yourself. He's strong. And when he suffers this kind of episode, he unleashes the majority of his strength. And that leaves only one option to deal with him. He has to be woken up as quickly as possible! Otherwise you'll probably be facing a mountain of trouble."

"Dad?" interrupted Sam hesitantly, "Why are you arguing with him? He's not the demon. And when the demon escapes we won't be able to stop him. Not until he comes back for me. And then it will be too late!"

"Sammy," replied John calmly, hoping to dispel some of his son's anxiety long enough to get the doctor and the nurses to leave. "It's okay. I'm here. Nothing's going to happen to you. Not while I'm around. I just want you to relax and everything will be all right."

"But Dad, the demon…"

"No Sammy. There is no demon. You were just dreaming."

"_It wasn't a dream, Dad!_ The demon's here. I know he is! He's just hiding. He's waiting for another chance to get me."

John glanced around at all the people that were still hovering around bed: Dr. Logan, the three nurses and the two security guards. He wished that they would all leave. That they'd go find something else to do and get the hell away from him and Sam. Because as long as they stayed, he couldn't speak honestly to him or properly alleviate his fears. There was no way for him to find out what Sam was going through or why the demon was stalking him.

But before John had a chance to say anything else, Dr. Logan stepped forward and addressed Sam, "Sam. Do you remember me? I'm Dr. Logan. You're in the hospital in Willow Springs. And there isn't any demon. Your mind is just playing tricks on you."

"_No! It's not! _" challenged Sam before he turned to look at his father, "Tell him, Dad! Tell him about the demon! The one that killed Mom!"

John tried his best not to look disconcerted by Sam's outburst even though it really didn't matter how he looked. Not to anyone but Sam. Because everyone else would assume that Sam was still simply verbalizing his continuing delirium. But John knew better. And Sammy did too. The only problem was that in his current mental state Sammy didn't seem to realize that he really shouldn't be announcing it to everyone within earshot. Which was something that had been instilled in him since he was a child. But its importance seemed to be eluding him now and John knew he had to quickly find some way to placate him enough that he would stop ranting about the demon.

"Sammy, you have to calm down because I can't help you if you don't. You're not rational enough right now for me to talk to you. You need to take a deep breath and relax. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here to make sure everything is okay. And once Dr. Logan finishes checking you out, we'll be able to talk. All right?"

"_But Dad, the demon…_"

"_Sam! Listen to me! You can't talk about demons anymore! Or anything to do with them! Do you understand me?_" decreed John forcefully.

"Yes, Sir," responded Sam apprehensively as he cast his father a panic-stricken look.

John knew that his son's obedience had only been elicited through years of psychological conditioning and not because Sam actually believed or even understood the reasoning behind his order. But it had been successful in halting his rambling narrative. And that was the most important thing for now. At least until the hospital personnel was satisfied that Sammy was going to be okay and they moved on to other things. Only then could John talk honestly to his son about the demon. But until they were alone, Sam really needed to keep quiet and if this was the only way John could get him to do that, then it had to be done this way.

Dr. Logan took advantage of the impasse to begin a cursory examination of his patient. One of the nurses recorded Sam's temperature and blood pressure while the doctor monitored Sam's breathing and heartbeat along with his vision and reflexes. Satisfied that, for the moment, Sam was physically sound, the doctor turned his attention to evaluating his mental status. He asked him a few standard questions including his name, his age, what day it was, where he was and if he could tell him how many fingers he was holding up. Sam answered most of the questions satisfactorily, correctly stating his name and age and that Dr. Logan had held up three fingers. He said that he thought that he was in a hospital in Willow Creek or some place like that. The only question that Sam had trouble with was the date because he said that he had no idea how long he had actually been in the hospital.

Based on the clarity of Sam's answers Dr. Logan determined that, on a fundamental level at least, his brain was functioning properly. But it didn't give him any sort of indication of the severity of Sam's delusions or how fast his memory was progressing. Going by the tumultuous incident he had just witnessed, he did know that Sam was still having hallucinations and that his mind wasn't completely stable. He had made excellent headway for someone who had emerged from a coma just hours ago but he still had a long recovery period ahead of him. And unless he could figure out some way to stop his father from interfering, Dr. Logan feared that he faced an uphill battle.

Then again, maybe the man was really onto something. He had managed to wake Sam up and even get him to calm down. And other than a few broken restraints there hadn't been any other damage done. And he'd been right; Sam had woken up in a violent frenzy until his father had been able to pacify him. So maybe keeping him away from his son wasn't the answer either. But Dr. Logan still believed that it would be preferable if Sam was kept medicated and he made a mental note to continue working on John to obtain his permission for that. In the meantime, he'd just make sure the nurses kept a close eye on both Sam and his father.

Once Dr. Logan had completed filling out Sam's chart he asked John if he could speak to him privately. John nodded but before he moved away from the bed, he glanced at Sam and asked him quietly if he would be okay for a few minutes. Sam's eyes instantly filled with terror at the thought of being left alone but he nevertheless nodded hesitantly in response to his father's question. John gave his forearm a slight squeeze to try to reassure him as he mentioned that he would only be a few feet away and that he should yell for him if he needed him. That seemed to appease Sam slightly so John winked at him before he wandered over to the nurses' station where the doctor was waiting for him.

"I would really like you to reconsider having him medicated," stated Dr. Logan as soon as John approached. "At least for the next few hours. I believe it will subdue his hallucinations and help put an end to the mental turmoil he's experiencing. It could prevent a repeat performance of what just happened."

John took a deep breath. He had known this was coming. But he still didn't know how to deal with it. He couldn't tell the doctor about Sam's visions or the telekinesis. And forget mentioning anything about the demon. So with reality a no-go, that left outright lying and subterfuge. And even with his years of experience in that area, he was still slightly uncomfortable falling back to it now.

"I'm sorry, but I still don't think it's a good idea," replied John, "Not based on what's happened in his past. Sam has never responded well to any kind of drug and if there's the slightest possibility that these drugs could invade his thoughts, I'd be willing to bet that they will. And if keeping him medicated might actually invoke more hallucinations, I tend to think that he'll only get worse and not better."

"I understand where your hesitation comes from," admitted the doctor, "But based on the recent trauma your son's gone through, I still believe that keeping him sedated is the best course of action. His mind is working overtime right now and if we can administer the right combination of drugs, I think we'd be able to suppress most of the delusions ."

"But there's still the risk that he could slip into another the coma?" asked John matter-of-factly.

"Unfortunately, yes. But I tend to think that the medication will only eradicate his most active thought patterns. And those are the ones that are causing his hallucinations."

"But you don't know for sure if that's all that will happen?"

"No, I don't," sighed Dr. Logan knowing that his admission had probably just cost him another round. "But based on other cases…"

"Then, I'm sorry but my answer still has to be no."

"Well, I hope that you'll think about it. And if you do change your mind, just ask one of the nurses to page me," responded Dr. Logan before he abruptly turned away.

John watched him walk away. He knew it was only a matter of time before the doctor won this battle. Because he would only wait until he thought that Sam was mentally capable of making his own decisions. Then he'd talk to him about it. And he'd present a very persuasive argument. And Sammy would ultimately agree. Because that's the kind of kid he was. He trusted people. And he didn't like to rock the boat. Not with anyone other than John anyway. So Dr. Logan would eventually get his permission and that would be that. And God knows what would happen after that. So in order to prevent it from happening John was going to have to get Sammy out of the hospital a lot sooner than he had originally anticipated.

Actually, now would be a good time. If he could just figure out how to avoid being seen. Because the primary purpose of any intensive care unit was to be able to provide constant observation and medical care to high-priority patients; so the units were always compact and simplistic by design. All the beds were arranged so that they could be easily seen and observed from the main desk and that was going to make it next to impossible for John to sneak Sam out. But John knew he had to. He'd just have to come up with some sort of diversion; one that appeared to be serious enough that it would attract the attention of everyone in ICU. Something like what had happened with Sammy. Only with different patients.

As John walked slowly back to Sam's bed he noticed that the curtain still encircled the bed and that gave him an idea. Because the only time the nurses couldn't see a bed was when the curtain was pulled around it. And that's what was going to provide him with the opportunity to look in on a few of the other patients. Then he would be able to decide how he could use them to create a diversion. So John casually walked through the curtain and was relieved to see that Sam was resting quietly on the bed. His agitation seemed to have dissipated and John thought he might have gone back to sleep. But Sam must have sensed someone's presence because he immediately opened his eyes and stared suspiciously at John.

"Dad?" he asked hesitantly.

John nodded slowly but didn't speak.

"Am I losing my mind?"

"Why would you ask that, Sammy?"

"Because I don't think I know what's real and what's not."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, the accident, for one thing. I remember that you were there. In the car. Both you and Dean were. I was taking you both to the hospital. But something broadsided us. Hit us really hard. Smashed right into the passenger door. Where you were sitting. And if that really happened you'd have been hurt really bad. Or maybe even killed. But you don't look like you were even in an accident. You don't have scratch on you. You're not even limping. And that can't be. Not if my memory is correct."

"Why should I be limping, Sammy?" asked John guardedly.

Sam swallowed before he answered, "Because I shot you. In the leg."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because," admitted Sam reluctantly, "You were possessed. By the demon. You told me to kill you. But I couldn't do it. So I shot you in the leg instead."

John stared back at Sam. He knew that he must be telling him some of the things that happened prior to the accident. But not much of it made any sense to him and he didn't know what to say or even how to proceed with this conversation. So instead, he changed the subject, "How badly was Dean hurt?"

Sam looked apprehensively at his father, "He was hurt real bad. Before the accident. He may actually have been dying."

"Why? What happened to him?"

"Well, you…or the demon that had possessed you…tortured him. Drained a lot of blood out of him. And he was really weak. He could hardly stand. He looked like he was probably gonna die. And that was before the accident." Sam paused. Then he timidly ventured, "But Dad?...None of this really happened, did it?"

John quickly glanced through the bed-curtains to ascertain that they were still alone before he stepped closer to the bed and leaned toward Sam. "Sam, I honestly don't know what happened to you before the accident. But the things you're remembering probably did happen. I just don't…We don't have time to figure it all out right now. And we can't discuss it here. So we're going to have to get you outta here. It's the only way we can talk. And the only way I can project you."

"But my leg? It's broken. And I don't think I can walk on it."

"Do you think you'll be able to put any weight on it?"

"Probably a little. But not enough to get myself outta here."

"I'll help support you. But you're gonna have make sure you're ready to go as soon as I set things into motion."

With that John walked to the foot of the bed and peered out the curtains one last time. There were only two nurses sitting behind the desk, which meant that the other one was either with a patient or gone on her break. But he was still going to have to cause enough of a distraction to occupy the other two nurses so he could get Sam out of ICU. But first he had to help Sammy get into some clothes. And because they were in ICU, there were no lockers for the patient's belongings; they just put them into bags and stuffed them inside the patient's bedside table. John went to the table, opened the drawer and tossed the bag onto Sam's bed. Then he pulled out Sam's jeans and tore a slit down the entire length of the leg so that Sam would be able to slip them around his cast. When he had finished, John dropped the jeans onto Sam's lap and told him to put them on as best he could and to remove the hospital gown he was wearing.

As Sam clumsily tried to get dressed, fighting against the pain emanating from his fractured ribs, John took a closer look at the machine that was monitoring his son's vital signs. He was hoping to find a way to turn the machine off or to at least conceal the sounds it would make as soon as he disconnected the electrodes from Sam's chest. And as he carefully scrutinized the monitor, he found a volume button at the very bottom of the machine and he could just barely refrain from laughing. Because he couldn't understand why this vital piece of medical equipment would have such an easily accessible volume control button. Something anyone could turn off. And wasn't that just courting disaster?

Regardless, he had to admit that it was extremely convenient for him and he just reached over and turned off the volume. Then he waited anxiously for a few seconds to make sure that it wasn't going to emit some sort of warning signal. But, thankfully, nothing happened and John spun the machine around so he could look at the back. It didn't take him long to locate a power switch which he also clicked off. And then, as a final precaution he pulled the cord from the wall. With the monitor successfully shut down John turned around to check on Sam's progress. And Sam was sitting with his eyes screwed tightly shut and his arms wrapped tightly around his torso. He had strained his already injured ribs trying to put on his jeans. Without saying a word John walked over to Sam and gently began removing the electrodes from his body. Once they were all removed, he grabbed Sam's jacket from the bag and helped him put it on, carefully trying not to cause Sam any more discomfort.

Then John crept to the head of Sam's bed and carefully moved the curtain back so he could see the bed next to Sam's. The man in the bed was asleep so John slunk quietly around his bed and peered cautiously through the curtain at the next patient. The woman was also asleep so John slipped silently into her room and stood beside her bed. She didn't seem to be in any sort of medical distress. And that was a good thing because John was going to make it look like she was. John tiptoed over to her monitor and placed the blade of his pocketknife against one of the electrode cords where it attached to the machine. He carefully popped the top of the wire out, severing the connection and making it impossible for the machine to receive data from that electrode. As expected the monitor began beeping loudly to draw attention to the problem and John quickly slipped back through the curtain and into the other patient's room.

After waiting a moment to ensure that no one came to check on this patient, John walked up to his monitor and repeated the same procedure on his monitor. And as soon as the alarm sounded, John stole back into Sam's chamber and waited anxiously for the remaining nurse to respond. And while the nurses were busy trying to figure out what was causing the monitors to go off John went over to Sam and put his arm around him. Once Sam had placed his arm around his father's shoulder, John helped him up off the bed and together they walked slowly to the foot of the bed. Before they ventured out, John took another look out the curtain to make sure no one was around. Assured that the coast was clear, he hurriedly assisted Sam across the remainder of room and out the door.

Although it required a fair bit of effort John managed to guide Sam down the hallway to the stairwell. He placed his back against the door to open it without relinquishing his hold on Sam and they spun around to face the stairs as soon as they were through. With little time to waste John maneuvered Sam over to the stairs so he could grip the handrail with his free hand while he helped ease him down the stairs. It was a cumbersome journey with Sam almost hopping down each step. And it was easy to see that the jerky movements were causing more irritation to his fractured ribs. But Sam didn't complain and John wasn't about to baby him. When they finally reached the main floor, John slowly eased Sam down onto one of the stairs to let him rest for a moment. John scoped out the hallway and was both surprised and relieved to see that someone had left a wheelchair on the other side of the door. He hastily opened the door, grabbed the wheelchair and wheeled it into the small alcove.

John swung the wheelchair around to face Sam before he helped him off the stairs and into the seat. Then without hesitation he reached behind him and swung the door open, holding it with his foot so he could glide the wheelchair through. John steered the wheelchair down the hall and rushed out the front door. He rolled the wheelchair over to the truck and quickly opened the passenger door so Sam could get in. And as soon as Sam lifted himself off the wheelchair, John shoved it onto the grass. Then he dashed over to the driver's side and jumped in, hastily inserting the key into the ignition and tearing onto the road.

They had driven about two blocks when the unmistakable glare of flashing roof-lights reflected brightly in John's rear-view mirror. Hoping that the squad car only wanted to go around him John veered the truck closer to the curb but kept driving as he carefully watched the cruiser in the mirror. But he was more than a little dismayed to see it mimic the truck's movements, driving right up behind him before its siren resonated briefly as a final warning for him to pull over. So with a roll of his eyes and a heavy sigh, John slowly eased the truck to the curb and stopped. He sat silently in the driver's seat waiting for the police officer to approach, not even bothering to look over at Sam. And Sam, for his part, stared out the side window, wishing he could simply disappear from sight.

"John Winchester?" asked the officer as he converged on the driver's door and shone his flashlight into the cab.

"That's right," answered John bluntly without turning his head to look at the officer.

"Please step out of the truck, Mr. Winchester."

"Why?" inquired John bitterly.

"I'm sorry Mr. Winchester," sighed the patrolman as he holstered his flashlight and placed his hand on the grip of his gun, "But I have orders to bring you into the station."

"For what?"

"For something we discovered in your motel room."

"You were in my motel room?" queried John incredulously, "Without a warrant?"

"We didn't need a warrant, Sir."

"Why the hell not?"

"We had sufficient reason to believe you were harboring a fugitive."


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was about to go stark raving mad just sitting around in that tiny motel room. It wasn't like he had anything to do. The TV didn't work; not unless you liked viewing everything through a simulated snowstorm. Some previous tenant had broken the stupid antenna and the cost of replacing it was obviously more that the budget of this high-class establishment could accommodate. And, of course, there wasn't even so much as a newspaper left lying around the room. His father must be slipping; he always managed to come across a paper somewhere that he'd just casually pick up and take with him. Because he always liked to keep abreast of anything that appeared to be even the slightest bit unusual. But he hadn't even bothered to do that. Unless he still had the damn thing in the cab of his truck.

Regardless, he hadn't left it here so that left the only reading material to be a three-year-old take-out menu from some pizza joint that had probably gone out of business, the bible that was stuffed into one of the dresser drawers or the local phone book. And he certainly wasn't desperate enough to read the bible. Not now and not ever. Besides he'd already memorized the important verses anyway. In Latin no less. Thanks to Dad and his years of sadistic punishments. And he'd already flipped through the phone book a couple of times. Okay – so he'd checked out the escort services and massage parlors. Just for something to do of course. Not because he ever used them.

But now that left him with a grand total of absolutely nothing to do. He'd already been stuck in this crappy motel room for what was beginning to seem like an eternity. And he was going to be stuck in it for God knows how much longer. He thought about trying to get some rest but he knew that wasn't likely to happen. Not because he wasn't tired; he was just too worked up about Sammy to actually be able to get any sleep. It had already been a couple of hours since he'd last spoken to his father. And that conversation hadn't been the most reassuring one they'd ever had. Some stupid doctor wanted to keep Sammy medicated because he thought he was having hallucinations. But how the hell did he know what was going on in his brother's head? Besides, Sammy had a long list of real-life, horrendous experiences that could manifest themselves into all kinds of nightmares. That is if they were only nightmares and not more of his visions. But they almost definitely weren't hallucinations.

On the bright side, Dad had listened to him when he'd told him not to let the doctor give Sammy anything to keep him sedated. Or he had seemed to have listened anyway. Hopefully he had. Because the last thing Sammy needed was something else to mess with his mind. He had struggled through countless sleepless nights ever since the two of them had embarked on their latest journey. Ever since Jessica died. And Dean knew that there were things going on in that head of his that Sammy refused to tell him. Always saying he was "fine" and to "stop worrying about him." Like that was ever going to happen. Especially with the current situation developing the way it was.

Dean was rudely jolted out of his reverie by what sounded like the muffled sound of van doors slamming shut and he immediately bolted upright so he could to listen for any further noise. He wasn't sure if the sound had come from a cargo van, delivery truck or some other kind of transport vehicle. But one thing was certain; it hadn't been a minivan. Because minivans were smaller and used for family transport. And what kind of lousy excuse for a parent would purposely bring their kids to this dump? Besides, if it was a minivan, he'd be hearing the clamor of people talking by now seeing as even the slightest sound permeated the paper-thin walls of this dilapidated joint. Not to mention the fact that the windows didn't fit properly either. There'd been birds chirping outside all day long. But they weren't chirping now and it was suddenly deathly quiet outside. It was enough to make the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stand on end. And that wasn't usually a good thing.

So Dean stood up and cautiously looked out the peephole in the door. And sure enough, a large white van was parked right outside the door. And there were four heavily-equipped law enforcement officers clustered around the rear bumper. So they obviously hadn't come on a social call. Seemed more like the prelude for an extended, all-expense-paid vacation for some unlucky bastard. And Dean was willing to bet that he was supposed to be that unlucky bastard. But this wasn't looking like it was intended to be the kind of holiday he really wanted; given that neither the travel arrangements nor the accommodations looked very inviting. In fact they ranked below his current state of affairs. Which was pretty dismal, considering that he was holed up in this dive without a vehicle. And he really didn't want to be a killjoy and ruin all their hard work tracking him but he just couldn't see how any of this was going to work out in his favor. And the fun-factor of him wasn't even registering at all. But that didn't mean he couldn't make his own fun. Turn this into a little game of cat and mouse. Or hide'n'seek. Except making sure to leave out the getting caught part. 'Cause that wouldn't be any fun.

Dean watched the police officers for a moment longer just to make sure they hadn't already begun their little blitzkrieg, Assured that they were still in the final stages of assembling their plan, Dean rushed to the bathroom because his only viable way out was through the bathroom window. And the odds were pretty good that, at any minute, one of those officers would head around to the back of the motel to stake it out in case Dean tried to escape that way. Which was exactly what he was going to do. So without further hesitation, Dean climbed onto the bathtub and quietly slid the small window open.

The window was typical for a bathroom: a small slider with one pane of glass that moved; the other pane was fixed in place. It appeared to be just big enough for Dean to be able to crawl through. Just as long as he propelled himself toward the open expanse accurately enough that he didn't slam into the glass instead. Because that was likely to break the glass and that would be all that was needed to alert the SWAT team out front. So it was a good thing that he'd had lots of practice jumping through windows before. But every case was different and presented its own challenge so success wasn't guaranteed.

Dean placed his hands as far apart on the window ledge as he could and leaned over the tub to look out the window so he could make sure that the coast was clear and he wouldn't be caught as soon as he leapt through the window. Everything was quiet, with no sign of human intruders and he was pleased to see that the grass had only been mowed about 15 feet past the back of the building. Beyond that, the grass had grown tall and wild. And the steady breeze blowing across the field would help prevent his movements from being too easily spotted as he crawled through the grass to the woods at the far end of the field. So without further hesitation, Dean quickly lunged backwards in order to have enough momentum to propel himself up to the window. His first attempt successfully landed him right in the middle of the open window with his ribcage resting against the frame. Dean took one final look around the yard before he hoisted one knee onto the window ledge and jumped to the ground.

He landed on his hands and knees but instantly clamored to his feet and dashed toward the tall grass, launching himself through the air as he neared it and landing on his stomach about 6 feet into the overgrown vegetation. He lay still and listened briefly before he began to creep cautiously forward. He knew that if he moved too quickly or too slowly, he increased the risk of being seen but it was imperative that he gain as much ground as possible before they discovered the open window and began actively looking for him. So he stuck as close to the ground as he possibly could to limit the visible disturbance of the grass as he crawled further afield. But Dean had only gone a few yards before he heard muffled voices emanating from far off behind him. And from what he could tell the voices seemed to be coming from close to the motel. They must have discovered the open bathroom window and figured out that's how he had made his escape. Which meant that their search was just about to expand to include the entire area and Dean was going to have to move a lot faster if he didn't plan on getting caught. Because it wouldn't take them long to focus their attention on the field.

Dean increased his speed as he made a beeline to the nearest edge of the woods. But unfortunately he didn't know the area at all and hadn't even had the chance to view it as he drove through. Thanks to Dad and his overly-suspicious nature. Having knocked him out and carried him unconscious into the motel. And that had basically left him as the equivalent of a blind man trying to make his getaway through unfamiliar terrain.

And as Dean inched toward the woods, he suddenly heard the distant barking of large tracking dogs following in his wake…

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John briefly dropped his head back on the headrest and shut his eyes, wondering how in the hell Dean had managed to draw this kind of attention to himself. He should have known better than to leave him to roam around freely in that motel room; he really should have handcuffed him to the bed before he left. Because if one thing was for certain it was that Dean could always be counted on to do whatever he thought best regardless of what he promised. And that left John with another situation on his hands. How to get out of this mess. Without creating an even bigger one. Then he'd worry about helping Dean.

But right now, Sammy had to be his biggest concern. And he certainly wasn't going to be able to help John out of this situation. He wasn't in any shape to look after himself, let alone drive the truck or help take care of a cop. And John definitely wasn't about to leave Sam alone. Not now. Now while he was this vulnerable. And pretty much helpless. With something extremely dangerous after him. And whatever those things were that had been with him before to look after him were now long gone; trusting that John and Dean were there to pick up where they'd left off.

John glanced in his side mirror at the cop and his eyes were immediately drawn to the officer's hip where his hand gripped the butt of his gun. Not wanting any trouble, John raised his hands in the air to show the cop that he was unarmed before he slowly reached for the door handle. As he gradually opened the door and swung his legs out, the officer took an unsteady step backwards, keeping his hand on his gun but not withdrawing it from its holster. Emerging from the truck, John turned toward the policeman, holding his outstretched arms at shoulder-level to convince the officer that he wasn't a threat.

"Place your hands on the side of the truck," ordered the officer, "And spread your legs."

John nodded as he turned to face the truck and gripped the side of the box with his hands. He chanced a brief look at the cruiser as he shifted his legs slightly apart and waited for the cop to begin a standard pat-down. From the corner of his eye, John could see the officer remove his hand from his pistol before he moved directly behind him and took a step closer. As the man's hands came in contact with his body, John glanced at Sam and was relieved to see that he hadn't moved; whether out of sheer exhaustion or utter frustration John wasn't sure. But Sam was still sitting motionlessly in the cab, his head turned toward the window and resting against the back of the seat.

John waited patiently while the officer completed frisking his torso and was about to move onto patting down his legs before he spun around rapidly, lashing out at the squatting officer with a vicious uppercut that struck the man on the side of his jaw. As the force of the punch propelled him backwards and onto the ground, John leapt toward him, stepping heavily on his right arm to stop him from reaching for his weapon.

But John wasn't the only accomplished fighter in this duel; the cop also had plenty of experience. Plus he was about ten years John's junior which gave him a slight advantage in dexterity and he nimbly counteracted John's assault by swinging one of his legs upward, smashing his knee solidly into the back of John's knee. As his leg buckled, John twisted his body sideways so that he fell directly on top of his opponent and knocked the wind out of him. Whatever physical disadvantage John had against the younger man was made up tenfold in knowledge and skill. His years in the Marines notwithstanding, John's greatest asset came from his countless battles with varied ethereal beings; their movements weren't restricted by the constraints of a physical body like his current opponent and John was well-educated in the field of human kinetics, making him instinctively able to counteract every maneuver the police officer tried.

While he used the weight of his body to pin the cop to the ground John inadvertently let his foot slip off the man's arm and he could feel the officer renew his efforts to obtain his gun while the officer's other hand grasped the nightstick that was still sheathed to his other hip. John quickly repositioned his left knee, slamming it down heavily on the man's forearm at the same time as he seized his other wrist to stop him from reaching the baton. The cop instantly swung both his legs upward but John spun his body sideways so that his adversary's knees crashed into the small of his back. And as he twisted his torso, John pulled upwards on the man's arm before he jerked it toward him, effectively yanking the officer's head and chest off the ground. As he leaned back onto the officer's lower body to acquire some much-needed momentum, John lambasted the officer in the head with a powerful left-hook.

But the officer had somehow managed to secure his gun and while he fought off the dizzying effects of the brutal assault, he expertly lifted the weapon and pointed the barrel directly at John. Although his vision remained suspect, his aim was steady and accurate, leaving John with little choice but to surrender. So without hesitation, John once again raised his hands to signal his compliance and slowly disengaged himself from the armed policeman, remaining on his knees and keeping a steady eye on the muzzle of the gun that was expertly aimed at his chest.

"Turn around," wheezed the officer breathlessly as he rose to his feet, "And put your hands on your head."

John obeyed, shuffling his knees on the ground until his back was to the cop. The police officer backed away from John until he was well out of reach, still not totally convinced that he had completely subjugated the ex-Marine. For his part John appeared complaisant, knowing that the cop had to make one of two choices: he could either return to his squad car and call for backup or he could attempt to restrain him again. But both scenarios had their downfall; if he returned to his vehicle, John could use that opportunity to make a run for it and a second attempt to handcuff his prisoner could very well lead to another confrontation.

And as he waited attentively for the officer make his decision, John heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked close behind him…


	13. Chapter 13

An eerie calm filled the air, providing the illusion that time had momentarily stopped. But, despite the speculative reprieve John wasn't about to move; at least, not until he had a better understanding of what was really going on behind him. Because so far, whoever had cocked that gun hadn't fired. And he hadn't been shot. And was still alive. Which was a good thing. So, if not moving was the key staying alive, then he was willing to comply for a little while anyway. But staying still didn't mean he was going to stop paying attention. Because he was listening. Very attentively. In fact, he was probably more alert and more attentive than he been all day. And it had been one hell of a day already.

Then, without warning, a deep, stark voice cut through the silence that had sated the night air.

"Don't even think about it."

Sam.

Sounding secure and confident.

Not sick and barely cognizant.

But strong. And stable. A force to be reckoned with. Not challenged.

That's when John knew for certain that the gun wasn't trained on him. He lowered his arms to his sides and turned to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was his youngest son standing right behind the immobile police officer with a gun – the one that John always kept in the glovebox - all but touching the back of the man's head. And that had, of course, completely reversed the balance of power. Reflecting briefly on how nice it was to have competent back-up, John quickly rose to his feet and hurried over to Sam. Because as much as Sam looked and sounded menacing, John knew it was simply a facade. One that could collapse at any time. So it was imperative that John reach him before that happened. Before Sam faltered and gave the officer the opportunity to regain control of the situation. Especially seeing as the man was still armed. And if John didn't get to Sammy before his adrenaline was depleted, they'd both be screwed. And all of Sammy's bravado would have been for naught.

As soon as John reached Sam he grabbed the pistol from his hand, taking care to keep it trained on the police officer. With the situation firmly under control, John grabbed the officer's gun and handed it to Sam. And, even though it was urgent that he get Sam back to the truck before his son succumbed to exhaustion and quite possibly injured himself further, John nonetheless realized that he had to secure the cop first. So, he hastily pulled the handcuffs from the officer's duty belt, quickly slapping the handcuffs on the man's wrists before he ordered him to his knees.

With the officer no longer a threat, John carefully wrapped his free arm around Sammy's upper body and slowly began sidestepping toward the truck. He glanced quickly at his son and asked quietly, "You okay?"

Sam uttered an almost inaudible "Yeah," while he slowly nodded and closed his eyes, trying to maintain consciousness.

"Okay. Good," whispered John firmly. "Now, we're gonna get you back to the truck. All right?"

Again Sam nodded but decided not to give a verbal response, choosing instead to reserve his limited energy in order to get back to the truck. Knowing instinctively that his father wouldn't want to let the police officer out of his sight for even a second, Sam attempted to walk sideways back to the truck. But it was extremely painful to move his injured body sideways, and his father's grip was proving to be too tight for him to maneuver out of without increasing the strain on his injured ribs. So he settled for throwing his arm over John's shoulder and letting his father assume the majority of his weight. It was an extremely slow and difficult journey to the truck for both of them but, thankfully, it was less than ten feet away. When they finally reached the rear bumper, Sam swung his arm over his father's head and grabbed the truck's box, grateful to be freed from his father's overbearing grip. And once John was satisfied that that Sam would be able to make it to the cab using the truck as support, he relinquished his hold on his son. But he stayed right beside him as Sam edged slowly toward the cab. And while John cautiously walked backwards alongside Sam he kept a watchful eye on both the cop and his son. Just before Sam got to the cab, John swung the passenger door open so he could climb in. As soon as Sam had settled painfully into the seat, John shut the door. Then he strode back over to where the cop was still kneeling on the ground.

Yanking upward on the officer's arm John forcefully dragged him to his feet and, after the man had regained his balance, John roughly spun him around and thrust him toward his cruiser. He pulled the police officer to an abrupt halt when they reached the rear passenger door. Swinging it open, John shoved the officer face-first into the backseat, pushing his head down to help guide him inside. But as he bent the officer forward, John smacked the butt of his gun down on the back of the man's head, knocking him out-cold. And as the unconscious officer slouched forward, John pushed his limp body onto the backseat of the car and slammed the door shut. Then he walked to the driver's door, removed the keys from the ignition and switched off the police radio. Confident that the officer would be out-cold for at least half an hour, John dashed back to the truck, pocketing the keys for the cruiser as he ran.

He had to get them away from there as fast as he could. Just in case more cops were en route. He had to get Sammy to some place he'd be able to rest. And recover from his ordeal. In safety. And once Sammy was out of danger John would be able to concentrate on finding out what had happened to Dean.

But one thing was certain; they couldn't go back to the motel.

John jumped into the driver's seat, and glanced quickly at Sam. He was facing the other way and at first glance he seemed to be resting. But he didn't move at all as the truck pulled away from the curb so John reached out and lightly touched his arm. There was still no response so John gently shook his shoulder and he softly called out his son's name. As gentle as John had been, the minute vibrations from the shaking caused Sam's head to roll off the headrest and flop onto his shoulder as it swiveled around to face John. John cupped his youngest son's chin in his hand and lifted his head up to look into his eyes. But there was nothing there. Sam's eyes were rolled back into their sockets, once again leaving two vacant, cloudy orbs staring back at him.

Only this time they were emitting a horrifying, ghoulish glow.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

'_Great,_' thought Dean forlornly as he crawled closer to the woods. '_Figures they'd bring their stupid dogs. Which means I'm really gonna be screwed once they pick up my scent. And that shouldn't take them very long._'

But he certainly wasn't going to simply give up before they found him. Because that just wasn't the Winchester way. Hell, they'd all escaped from tighter situations than this more times than he could remember. Or cared to remember anyway. All it took was keeping things in the proper perspective. Staying focused on the task at hand. Keeping a positive attitude. And not letting what might happen overpower your thoughts. Because the reality was that it hadn't happened yet so you just had to do your best to ensure it never did. And, if it did eventually end up not in your favor, you dealt with it then.

So Dean concentrated on reaching the woods, commando-crawling as fast as he could across the rough terrain, seeing as he just couldn't risk standing up and making a mad dash for it. Because then they'd see him for sure. He just had to make it to the bushes before those damn dogs picked up his scent. As he scurried through the tall grass, Dean kept his head up, looking for the first sign of the treetops that he knew were somewhere up ahead. Finally, the very tips of the tallest trees came into view just off to the left so he altered his direction to head into them. And even though he had absolutely no idea what lay beyond their borders, Dean knew he had to reach the woods if he was going to have half a chance of making good on his escape. Because only when he concealed himself amid the dense vegetation, would he be able to outdistance the police officers. And their dogs.

Dean was covered in a gritty combination of dirt, dust, grass seeds and sweat when he finally crawled into the bush. He edged forward a few yards into the woods before he scrambled to his feet, finally getting the opportunity to gain some much-needed ground against his pursuers. But with trained dogs there to guide them, Dean knew he was going to have a harder time losing them. So he zigzagged through the foliage, taking sharp twists and turns, leaping and darting over and around smaller trees, rocks and other obstacles, hoping that his rambling course would succeed in confusing the animals. Because, he knew that as long as he traveled over solid ground, those dogs would be able to follow his scent. And the only way to slow them down at all was to make his path as complex and bizarre as possible so that they would have trouble following it. He just hoped that he didn't lose his own sense of direction as he veered erratically through the woods and ended up wandering back into the cops' waiting arms.

And as he forged onward, Dean thought he could hear the unmistakable babbling of flowing water as it crashed into stones that lay indiscriminately in its bed and lapped against its banks while it journeyed on its course. The sounds seemed to be coming from just up ahead and Dean increased his speeds to reach it. When he finally spotted the little stream, he was both relieved and disappointed in what he saw. It was only a small stream, barely stretching 3 feet across; he had hoped it would be bigger. But the water flowing down the channel was fairly deep and fast moving, which meant that his footprints would be washed away almost immediately. And not be left undisturbed for the police to find.

Dean paused beside the stream for a moment, looking up and down the embankment, trying to determine which would be the best way to go. He finally decided that he wanted to head west so he turned the other way and ran a short way up the riverbed before he jumped across the stream. Then he ran a few feet up the hill before he turned and leaped back into the water; he continued running in the middle of the stream before he hopped onto the bank, only this time on the same side where he had started from. He ran about fifteen feet up the bank before darting back into the water and sprinting through it for about another fifteen or twenty feet. Dean then bounded back onto the far bank and proceeded up the hill. When he reached the top, Dean stopped and expertly retraced his footsteps; taking extreme caution to place them in the original impressions.

Once he made it back to where he had first found the stream, Dean stopped briefly and looked up at the multitude of branches that draped over the riverbank. Spotting a thick bough that looked like it was strong enough to hold his body weight, Dean jumped up and grabbed it with both hands. He let his body hang from the branch for a moment to make sure that it wouldn't break and when he was satisfied that it wouldn't, he swung his legs back and forth to gather momentum before he let go and propelled himself as far as possible down the stream. He landed about twelve feet further down the riverbed and he quickly picked himself up and re-commenced his getaway.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John resisted stopping the truck; he was still too close to where the cop had pulled him over. Instead, he twisted slightly in his seat to get a better look at Sam. His eyes darted back and forth between the road and his son's face. He cupped Sam's jaw in his hand, drawing his head upwards.

"Sam!" he called fretfully, "Sammy! Snap out of it!"

But the only response was a low, guttural moan.

So John tried again, "Sammy! Wake up!"

But John had lifted Sam's head up too high and it flopped back limply onto the headrest, causing the moan to turn into a raspy gurgle.

John turned onto the closest sidestreet he came across and hastily parked on the side of the road. Cops or no cops, he had to help his son. And he couldn't do that while he was driving. He threw the truck into park before it had had a chance to come to a complete stop, causing it to lurch back and forth, adding another surreal element to the situation. Before the rocking had ceasing, John swung his knee onto the seat beside Sam and tried unsuccessfully to get him to sit up. But Sam was lifeless, his body limp and unresponsive. If it weren't for the rising and falling of his chest, John would have feared that he was dead. Only he wasn't. Something out of this realm was happening to him. And John didn't know that could possibly be. If it was a demonic possession, it was unlike anything he had ever come across before. People who were possessed appeared normal. At least until the demon decided to reveal its diabolical presence and commit some monstrous deed.

But he'd never seen a demon affect a person like this. Cause him to pass out and grow weak. Make his eyes glow white and unseeing. This was all new to John and he had no idea how to deal with it. So in desperation, John pulled the ever-present flask of holy water out of his breast pocket and splashed it on Sam's body, expecting it to damage the demon enough for it to retreat deep into Sam's body long enough for John to rouse him.

Except nothing happened. There was no smoke. No steam. Nothing. No reaction at all. So either Sammy wasn't possessed or the water in his flask was plain old tap water. But that wasn't possible either. It had never happened in 23 years of dealing with the supernatural. So it wasn't likely to have happened now. Besides, he was smarter than that.

So that left only one other possibility.

It was a demon of a higher order…

One of the seven princes of hell…

Satan's second-in-command…

Mephistopheles.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean trudged through the water, taking care to stay in the deepest sections as he made his way further away from the bounty hunters behind him. And it appeared that his diversion had worked; he couldn't hear any voices or barking behind him. Even though it seemed like he had successfully tricked them, he wasn't taking any chances. A good tracking dog would probably be able to pick up his scent again. So he had to get out of the area as fast as he could. And as he ran, Dean became aware of two things: Exactly how tired he was. And that he could hear the tell-tale din of highway traffic just up ahead. Ignoring his aching muscles and weary body, Dean focused all his attention on reaching the road that lay somewhere in front of him.

Suddenly, he spotted the roadway through the trees and he made a beeline toward it. He still wasn't tired or desperate enough to emerge from the trees without surveying the area first. But there were no cops. No sign of anything suspicious. Nothing out of the ordinary. Although he did see a building about 600 yards off to the right. It looked like it was a landscaping company of some sort. Or a cement plant. Either way, it was a viable destination and a great place to finally lose the cops for good. Because all he had to do was climb the stone wall that surrounded the property and crawl along it before jumping off it somewhere on the other side of the building. And with any luck at all, he'd find a car sitting in the parking lot, just waiting to take him for a drive. So, with one final look around, Dean dashed out of the woods and headed for the factory.

He reached the wall without incident, immediately clamoring on top of it. He scurried across it, keeping a close lookout for any sign of danger. But there was nothing behind the building that would attract anyone and there weren't any windows in the back of the building either. By the time he'd reached the far side of the building, Dean was completely exhausted. His energy was spent and all he wanted to do was sit down and rest for a while. But he knew that, at this point in time, that was only a pipedream. He had to escape the cops first. And find his father and brother.

Dean slid wearily off the wall, sinking to the ground where he landed and momentarily closing his eyes. He was both mentally and physically drained. But he couldn't stay here. There was too much at stake. So with a deep breath, Dean opened his eyes. And he was immediately taken aback by what he saw.

"Sammy? How did you get here?"


	14. Chapter 14

"Sammy? How did you get here?"

"We should get going, Dean," replied Sam bluntly as he turned and started walking away.

"Where exactly are we goin'?" asked Dean as he stood up and brushed himself off.

"This way."

"_Really?_ Like I couldn't see that already."

"Well, you're the dumbass that asked."

"Thanks Sammy. Nice t'see you too," answered Dean sarcastically, having caught up with his brother.

"Yeah, whatever," replied Sam coolly. "But we should get outta here."

Dean looked suspiciously at Sam. "How'd you find me?"

"Took a wild guess. After I saw the police at the motel."

"It was a guess? Not a vision?"

"No Dean. No visions. Just a guess based on the geography around the motel and what I know about you."

"Well, pretty good guess then. But, uhhh…Where's Dad?"

"I dunno," shrugged Sam.

Dean stopped and grabbed his brother's shoulder, pulling him to a halt beside him. Spinning him around to face him, Dean snapped angrily, "_Whaddya mean you don't know?_ He was with you at the hospital all afternoon. I know he was. Because I was talking to him when he was there. And there ain't no way in hell you just walked outta there without him."

"No Dean, I didn't," retorted Sam. "We left together. But then we got separated."

"When? How?"

"After we pulled out of the parking lot," barked Sam, yanking Dean's hand off his shirt. "The cops were after us too, ya know," he snipped as he once again started walking away.

Dean thought about Sam's answer for a moment while he stood and watched him walk briskly away. "Hold up, Sammy. We need to talk."

"What's to talk about, Dean?" countered Sam without stopping. "Dad and I got separated when we were stopped by the police. That's it, that's all. I ended up here. And God knows where Dad ended up!"

"That doesn't make any sense, Sammy," disputed Dean heatedly. "Dad wouldn't let you outta his sight. Not after everything that's happened. And everything he knows."

This time Sam stopped and spun around to face his brother, spreading his arms widely out to each side and yelled, "_Whaddya want me to say, Dean? That Dad's waitin' in his truck just around the corner? That we came here lookin' for you after we left the hospital? And he sent me back here to come get you? Huh? Is that what you want me to say?_"

"I don't want'ya to say anything Sammy. I just want'ya to tell me the truth."

"_I told you the truth Dean!_ There's nothing else I can tell you! Because that's what happened! I just don't know how I can convince you!"

"_Okay! Okay! I hear ya!_" bellowed Dean as he stormed over to Sam, eyeballing him angrily as he approached. "But ya gotta admit, it does sound pretty suspicious."

"Only because you want it to, Dean! Because you're suspicious of everything!"

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, it is! You've been suspicious of everything ever since Mom died!"

Yeah? Well maybe if she'd been a little less trusting and a lot more suspicious, she'd still be alive! Maybe I've learned that you have to be suspicious to stay alive! So you don't end up being caught off-guard by something you weren't expecting!"

"Like what Dean? _Like me?_ Like maybe I'm not really me? Maybe I'm some sorta monster or demon that's come to hunt you down? And kill you? Because last time I checked, I was trying to get you the hell outta here before the cops arrived! But if you don't wanna trust me, Fine! Stay here! And take your chances by yourself! But I'm leaving! I'm not sitting around here waiting for the cops to show up, that's for sure!"

And with that, Sam turned and angrily strode away. He didn't turn around once. He never stopped to see if Dean was following him. Nor did he slow down before he rounded the corner of the building and disappeared from sight. He was leaving. Whether Dean went with him or not. That much was obvious. So Dean took a deep breath before he reluctantly stormed after his brother.

But, as he hurried to catch up, Dean felt for the gun that was shoved into the waistband of his jeans.

Just in case.

Because there was something about this that just wasn't adding up.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John stared down at Sammy as intense anger slowly overtook the fear that was cursing through his veins. Anger at what was happening to his son. Anger at not being able to help him. Not being able to stop it. Not knowing how to stop it. Or even where to begin. Anger aimed at the demon that was consuming his son's vitality as John frantically sought out a countermeasure to free him. But no matter how hard he tried nothing came to mind. No remedy. No cure. Not even an iffy band-aid solution.

Because nothing he had ever researched delved deeply into this topic. There was little real information on Mephistopheles. How he operated. How to deal with him. And certainly not how to exorcise him. There was no written documentation to indicate that any hunter – past or present – had ever encountered him. So that left only the testament contained in Christian mythology. Testament that was extremely vague and focused mainly on his ejection from heaven. And his subsequent allegiance with Satan. Religious mythology and propaganda intended to scare people. And trap them firmly in the clutches of the church. And even though he was scared, John wasn't a religious man. Hadn't been for a long time. And he sincerely doubted this had anything to do with God. Because he didn't believe that God even existed.

But Mephistopheles did. And so did Satan. And a million-and-one other demonic entities. All of whom wanted to conquer and obliterate the human race. For no other reason than that's what they did. But Satan and Mephistopheles were different. They did it for power. Because if Satan prospered, so did Mephistopheles. He was as wicked as Satan. And just as evil. Having risen to the position of Satan's second-in-command. His right-hand man so to speak. And now his claws were clamped deeply into Sammy. And he wasn't likely to let go.

Not unless John could figure out how to sever the connection.

For the umpteenth time that day, John seized Sam's shoulders and drew him closer. The only evidence he was alive was the systematic beating of his heart. But even that was dull and lethargic. He looked and acted dead. Sammy was completely lifeless. Like a rag doll in John's arms. His body was limp. And unresponsive. His skin cold and ashen. Giving off a ghastly hue of white. Like a freshly-dead corpse.

But his eyes were the worst.

Because eyes are the windows to the soul.

And Sam's eyes had sunk deeply into their sockets. They were empty. And hollow. Devoid of life. Sightless and unseeing. There was nothing discernible in them. It was like staring into an enormous chasm. One that contained only darkness. And death. Completely shrouded from light. And life. Drained of all existence. And Sam was being swallowed by it. His soul eviscerated. His life-force wiped-out. Annihilated by the demon that dwelled there. And was hell-bent on ravishing him.

But for what purpose?

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean fell in alongside his brother but neither one of them acknowledged the other. They walked side-by-side across the property but anger and resentment lingered in the air all around them. As they walked Dean cast intermittent glances at Sam, who refrained from making any attempt to acknowledge his brother's presence.

Sam walked the length of the grounds without hesitating until it became obvious that he was headed toward the bushes that bordered the yard near the road. Dean stayed beside him the entire way but his trepidation grew the closer they got to perimeter. And, just before the asphalt ended, Dean stopped. He watched silently as Sam walked onto the grass and headed into the woods without slowing his pace.

"_Sam!_" called Dean forcefully before his brother disappeared from sight.

There was no response from Sam.

"**_Sammy!_**" he yelled harshly.

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. He drew in a deep breath, causing his shoulders to heave before he spun around rapidly and barked, "_I told you_ _I'm not waiting, Dean!_"

"_Just where the hell do you think you're going?_"

"I'm getting us out of here!"

"Through the woods?" asked Dean incredulously. "Because I just came from there and I don't think that's such a great idea!"

"Got any _better _suggestions?"

"_Yeah I do!_ I think we should just steal a car."

"And that's less likely to draw the attention of the police?" retorted Sam angrily.

"It'll get us further. Faster." Dean replied irately, "And those damn dogs won't be able to track it!"

Sam glared back at Dean, but it was as if he had never thought of that. "But it'll be reported stolen and it won't take the cops long to figure it out."

"So?" countered Dean hotly. "By then we'll have found Dad and ditched the car."

"You sure about that?" challenged Sam, still not ready to cave to Dean's position.

"Trust me, Sammy."

"I dunno, Dean."

"Suit yourself," shrugged Dean. "Go ahead and walk. But I'm takin' a car." With that, he turned and headed back toward the building where at least half a dozen cars were parked along the side.

Sam watched him go before he hesitantly asked, "Dean? How you gonna get it going?"

Dean glanced back in bewilderment at his brother. "What do you mean how'm I gonna get it going? I'm gonna hotwire it Einstein."

"You can do that?"

Dean stared at Sam in confusion. "Of course I can hotwire a car. I've been doin' it since I was twelve. Or did you forget that?"

"Yeah," replied Sam timidly, as he took a couple of step toward Dean. "I guess I did."

Dean shook his head before he snorted, "You really musta hit your head hard in that accident, Sammy."

Content that his brother was going to join him, Dean turned around and once again strode toward the building. He cautiously surveyed the lot for any sign of trouble; anything that indicated someone might be observing them. But nothing caught his eye so he veered toward the car that was parking closest to the back of the building. As he approached it, he noticed that the car beside it had been left unlocked. Deciding that to be an advantage he couldn't ignore, Dean decided to take that vehicle instead. As he slid into the river's seat, he saw Sam's silhouette appear in the passenger door window. But he didn't open the door and get in; he just stood beside the car.

Dean wasn't sure if Sam was still undecided about joining him or if he was keeping a lookout for trouble, but he didn't waste any time worrying about it. He knew Sam would eventually get in and right now he had to concentrate on getting the car started before they were discovered. After jamming his pocketknife into the steering column to break the lock, Dean pulled out the ignition wires, touching them expertly together until he was successfully able to start the car.

He sat up with a smug smile on his face and was about to find out if his brother planning on getting in when the passenger door opened and Sam slipped his large frame inside. It was a tight squeeze; the compact car didn't lend itself well to tall people. Even Dean had had to adjust the seat to fit in. And the top of his head brushed up against the ceiling. So with at least four inches extra, Sam had to scrunch down in the seat. And he didn't look too happy about it.

Dean smirked at his brother's plight as he backed out of the parking spot before throwing the car into gear and driving out of the lot. He turned out from the industrial park and headed toward town.

After they had driven is silence for a few minutes, Dean asked, "Where do you think Dad went?"

"I dunno Dean. You know him better than I do."

"Ya know, for a kid who got a full ride to Stanford, you're not very bright."

Sam glared at Dean, asking heatedly, "You tryin' to tell me something?"

Dean shrugged. "Other than you're not being very helpful. And you're not really acting like yourself either."

"Bite me," replied Sam bitterly before added quietly, "Jerk" and turning to stare out the window.

"Well, that's a little more like it," quipped Dean. "But it's still not very helpful."

"Dean, I don't know where Dad went. But he's probably lookin' for you."

"I don't think so, Sammy. I think he'd be lookin' for you.'

"For me? Why would he be lookin' for me?"

Dean glanced at his brother. But he didn't answer. There was definitely something wrong with Sammy. 'Cause something just wasn't adding up. Even if he was suffering some sort of post-trauma distress from the accident. Or suffering some kind of concussion. He still wasn't acting like Sammy.

Maybe that was it. Maybe he was acting like Sammy. And acting was the best he could do.

Because maybe he wasn't Sammy.

With a heavy sigh, Dean turned his attention back to driving. And while he stared straight ahead, seemingly fixated on the road in front of him, his mind was focused elsewhere. Thinking about his brother. Or whatever it was that was sitting beside him. Because the more time they spent together, the less convinced Dean became that he – or it - was Sam. Sure, it looked and sounded like Sam. It had even done a respectable job imitating him. But not quite good enough. Not to fool Dean. Because, if there was one thing Dean knew, it was his brother. He knew him inside out, upside down and backwards. Knew how Sam acted.. How he felt. How he thought. He knew when he was lying. And when he was telling the truth. He knew exactly who Sam was. And who he wasn't.

But what Dean didn't know was what was impersonating him.

Or why.

But it was most definitely an imposter. Dean was convinced of that. Too many things just didn't add up. There were too many coincidences. And oddities. Sam's behavior being the oddest of all. Not knowing where Dad was. Not thinking to steal a car – something all three of them had had to do on countless occasions. But the strangest aspect was the lack of injuries. Because, hadn't he been in a car wreck? Fallen into a coma? And almost died? But here he was sitting in the passenger seat with no apparent injuries. Not a scratch or mark on him.

And that was impossible. Unless he wasn't really Sam. Unless he was some other type of entity. Something wicked. And evil. Evil enough to try to pass itself off as the most important person in Dean's life. But for what purpose? And to what end?

Dean glanced sideways at his brother, wondering just how dangerous he was. There was no way of knowing. Not without arousing its suspicions. So Dean was going to have to come up with another approach. He took a deep breath and stretched back in the seat. Then he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, letting it linger there briefly. And while his hand rested on the base of his neck, his fingers worked fervently to undo the cord around his neck. When he finally got it unlatched, he held both ends tightly while he gently continued massaging his neck, tucking the ends of the necklace into the back of his t-shirt at the same time, Then with a final deep breath, Dean removed his hand from behind his head and placed it back on the steering wheel.

Then he waited.

Until the vibration of the car as it drove down the road wiggled the cord free of his shirt and the necklace fell onto his lap. He looked down at the cord with its attached amulet and sighed.

"Damn," Dean uttered under his breath.

Sam turned to look at him. "What's the matter?"

"Nothin'" responded Dean dispiritedly. "I just lost my talisman, that's all."

"You lost it?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"Well, I didn't really lose it," admitted Dean. "It just kinda fell off my neck," he added as he picked it up off his lap, holding it by the amulet.

"Oh," responded Sam. "At least you didn't lose it."

"Good thing," affirmed Dean. "This thing is way too important to lose."

"Yeah? How's that?" enquired Sam, his interest peaked.

"Ahh…I'll tell ya later. When I'm not so tired," replied Dean. "But in the meantime, do ya mind holding this for me?" And he tossed the necklace and amulet toward his brother.

Sam instinctively reached for it, but as soon as the talisman touched his hand, his palm began to smolder. He flung the amulet into the air as if it was on fire, but it landed on his leg, causing more smoke to emerge from underneath it. Sam tried shaking his leg to remove the offending item without touching it, but it was stuck to his leg. He tried taking a swipe at it to rid himself of the talisman but, although he had succeeded in dislodging it from his leg, it was now securely attached to the back of his hand. Without thinking, Sam seized it with his other hand to try to pull it off. But now both of his hands were stuck.

And the smoke emanating from around the necklace increased until it had permeated the interior of the small car. Suddenly a putrid smell also filled the air as the powers contained in the mysterious amulet sought out the demonic entity inside Sam's body. But something in the flesh wasn't right and it festered and bubbled as the demon tried in vain to maintain control of its human form. But the amulet's powers were too strong and the unknown entity finally vanished into thin air, leaving behind no indication that it had ever existed.

With the creature gone, Dean's necklace fell harmlessly onto the passenger seat. Dean looked at it for a moment before grabbing the amulet and shoving it deeply into his pocket.

And, three-quarters of the way across town, at exactly the same moment, John felt Sam's body stiffen. He twitched violently before giving way to uncontrollable spasms that slowly faded into small quivers. John stared distressfully at his youngest son, not at all sure what any of this meant. And then, as quickly as it had started, Sam stopped shaking and he opened his eyes.

"_Dad? What's happening to me?_"


	15. Chapter 15

"Dad…_Is Sammy with you?_" asked Dean hurriedly into the phone the instant his father answered.

"Yeah, he is" responded John, a little baffled. "Why?"

"_Has_ _he been with you all the time? Was he ever outta your sight?_"

"Nooo…Why?"

"_Is he okay?_"

John paused as he stared down at his disoriented youngest son. "What's going on Dean?"

"Just tell me if Sammy's okay!"

But John persevered, "Where are you Dean? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah. Everything's great. _Just…tell me about Sammy._"

John took a deep breath and relented, "He's a little out of it right now."

"_Why?_ _What happened to him?_"

"He had some kinda seizure or somethin'," explained John, his gaze still fixed on a very exhausted and confused Sam.

"_A seizure?_ Like…an epileptic seizure?"

"Not like that. He more or less just blacked out. Except it was worse than that. He looked as if something was ripping his life right out of him."

"_Ripping his life out? _What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Like his life was being drained from somewhere within him. And like he was dying."

"_Is he okay now?_"

"Yeah. I think so," stated John hesitantly.

"How'd you get it to stop?"

"I didn't. He came outta it on his own."

"How?"

"I dunno. He just did," shrugged John.

"How long ago did it stop?"

"Just a few seconds before you called."

"How long did this seizure - or whatever it was - last?" demanded Dean.

"Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes, tops. Why?"

"Dad," stated Dean urgently, avoiding the question, "We gotta meet up. A-sap. It's important and I think Sammy's life might depend on it."

"What makes you say that, Dean?"

"Dad….Something was here - with me - impersonating Sammy the entire time he was blacked out there with you. I don't know exactly what this thing was, but I doubt it was a coincidence that you thought he was dying. I think something may actually be trying to kill him."

Deciding that further explanations and revelations about what Dean knew or suspected would have to wait, John snapped into something that was familiar to both his sons: his ex-Marine persona. His voice immediately took on the commanding edge of a hardened drill sergeant as he solicited answers from his oldest son regarding his current circumstances: whereabouts, status with law enforcement, mobility and transportation aspects as well as what types of accessible weaponry he had. Satisfied that Dean's overall situation was at least adequate, John ordered him to stay on his current course until he came upon Route 60. Then he was head south on Route 60 for approximately fifteen miles whereupon he would come to a town called Cabool and once there he was to locate the Super 8 Motel on Highway 181 and book himself into a room under the alias of Lucas Jackson.

"Lucas Jackson? Are you sure that's a good idea?" asked Dean quizzically. "He didn't make it Dad. He died at the end of the movie."

"But he never gave up, Dean. And that's what's important."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Twenty minutes after Dean had registered at the motel, he saw his father's truck pull into the parking lot. After scanning the area for any signs of police or other possible threats Dean raced out the door and met his father at the side of the truck. Together they helped Sam into the small, darkened motel room, laying him gently on the bed before John wandered over to the window and covertly glanced through the drawn curtains, noticing that there was already a line of salt spread out underneath the windowsill. He quickly glimpsed in the direction of the door and saw Dean hastily dispersing salt from a couple of salt shakers in front of the door.

Dean looked at his father and nonchalantly uttered, "Borrowed 'em from the motel restaurant. Figured we needed 'em more'an they did."

John gave a curt nod at Dean's statement and released his hold on the curtain. He glanced around the room's interior until his eyes came to a rest on an assortment of empty salt shakers scattered on top of the room's only dresser, shaking his head slightly and marveling at his eldest son's resourcefulness in being able to obtain whatever necessity they happened to require at any given time. After Dean had finished spreading the salt in front of the door he went to sit on the bed alongside his ailing brother. Sam was exhausted and didn't even bother to acknowledge Dean's presence. He was deathly pale and Dean had to admit – however reluctantly – that he couldn't remember Sam ever looking this bad. Dean cast his father a quick glance hoping to receive some sort of confirmation that Sammy was going to be okay but John's impassive expression revealed nothing so Dean turned his attention back to his younger sibling. Sam lay listlessly on the bed, his body extremely limp and debilitated. But the lifelessness displayed in his physical appearance was completely overshadowed by the distress evident in his contorted facial features; his eyes squeezed shut coupled with his deeply-furrowed brow and tightly-clenched mouth to reveal the horrible depth of his anguish.

"Sammy," Dean whispered quietly.

But Sam gave no indication that he had heard him.

Dean put his hand gently on his brother's forearm and tried again, "Sammy. Can you hear me?"

Sam opened his eyes, instantly conveying the extent of both his bewilderment and fatigue as he stared blearily up at Dean.

"You okay?" queried Dean hesitantly.

Sam swallowed and slowly nodded his head.

"What do you remember Sammy?" ventured Dean gingerly.

"About what?" asked Sam, his voice hoarse and weak.

"About anything."

"I…I remember…a cabin…and pain, lots of pain…you…you were hurt." Sam stared up at Dean, paused and let out a shaky breath, "I...I…I shot… Dad…in the leg…I don't remember, except…there was an accident" Sam stopped and tried hard to concentrate, "I remember waking up…in the hospital…you, you weren't there…and Dad…he wasn't hurt. And then, there was more pain…awful pain." He breathed in deeply. "We left…Dad and I…but the police stopped us...He had Dad…I took the gun from the glovebox and then…" He stopped and squinted uncertainly up at Dean, trying to recall what had happened after that.

Dean remained silent, staring intently at Sam while he gave him time to collect his thoughts. But Sam didn't try to say anything else and Dean quickly glanced at his father who was still standing by the window with his arms folded across his chest watching both his sons. Sam also glanced at his father. His thoughts were jumbled and confused and he didn't want to trust his memory. Because, if what he remembered was true, both his father and Dean should be severely injured; his father shot by his own hand and Dean hurt to the point of dying. But neither of them looked as if they'd been injured in any way – not even any scrapes or scratches from a car accident. So, if they were both okay, what exactly was he remembering? What kind of tricks was his mind playing on him? And why?

Is if sensing his son's trepidation, John slowly approached the bed. "Sammy, just tell us what you remember."

"I dunno, Dad. It can't be right," said Sam closing his eyes and running a hand over his temple.

"Sammy, it's important that we know," injected Dean.

"I…I need to sleep," whispered Sam. "I'm tired."

"Sammy, you have to tell us…" Dean insisted, but John gently grasped his arm to silence him.

"Let him sleep Dean. He needs to rest and he's safe for now. In the meantime, you and I need to talk."

John stood up and walked over to the table in the corner of the room. He sat in one of the two chairs and motioned for Dean to join him. With a reluctant sigh and a last long look at Sam, Dean wandered over and joined his father.

"How do you know he's safe, Dad?" Dean asked harshly, the challenge barely concealed in his tone.

"Just a hunch."

"_A hunch?_ And I'm just supposed to be okay with that?"

"I don't care if you're okay with it or not. But Sam needs to regain his strength if he's going to survive this and be able to tell us everything he remembers. Right now I want to know what happened before you called."

Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled out the second chair and sat down. He leaned both elbows on his knees and rubbed one hand across his eyes before he related the peculiar events of that day starting with the police raid on the motel room and ending with his overwhelming suspicions that whatever was sitting beside him in the car wasn't Sammy and how he had successfully managed to annihilate it. John took a moment to process everything Dean had told him.

Finally, he looked at Dean and asked, "Your amulet…you ever used it like that before?"

"Nope. Never needed to."

"What made you think you needed it this time?"

"Just a hunch."

"Dean," cautioned his father, "Don't play games with me. Not now."

"I'm not playing games, Dad. It _was_ just a hunch. There was nothing specific, ya know. Sammy just wasn't quite Sammy. He was off a little. Not himself. And he wasn't hurt or anything either. Things just weren't quite addin' up. Not with the accident and everything else you told me. Besides, if it really had been Sammy, nothing woulda happened."

"How'd you know it would work?"

"I didn't," shrugged Dean, "But it was worth a shot. Pastor told me that it wasn't just a protection amulet but that it would avert evil given the right circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

"Dunno. He never really said. Just that its powers would be released within the grasp of the unholy."

"And you knew what that meant?" asked John skeptically.

"Not a chance. But I never forgot what he said. I kinda figured I'd get it one day. And today, I got to thinkin' and wonderin' if maybe Pastor Jim had meant it literally. That the evil sonovabitch had to be holding it. Figured there was nothin' to lose if I tried it. Guess it was a good thing for Sammy that it worked."

"You said you thought Sammy's life may be in danger. What made you think that?"

"Come on, Dad, think about it. Sammy's here, with you. And you think he's dying. And something that looks just like him is all the way across town with me. Whatever it was, it was perfect. Looked and sounded just like Sammy. And its physical body was rock-solid. I grabbed it by the shoulder once and it was as real as any person I've ever touched. Yet it smoked and smoldered as soon as it grabbed my amulet. And Sammy woke up at exactly the same time as it disappeared into thin air. So it had to be projected from somewhere. Someplace evil. Maybe right from Hell. And it was using Sammy to climb out."

John thought for a moment. "So you think it was using Sammy as a medium? But instead of just occupying his mind and channeling its thoughts into him and using him to accomplish its will, it was actually siphoning his life in order to create its own existence?"

Dean blinked and replied uncertainly, "_Yeahhh_…Somethin' like that."

There was another pause before John answered. "You could be right. It makes sense."

"_It does?_"

John sighed. "Yes, Dean it does. I'm more convinced then ever that we're up against Mephistopheles. It's possible that Satan has him bound from ever leaving hell as a safeguard to prevent him from getting too powerful. But he still needs to gain access to earth if he's going to lead a war. And that's where Sammy comes in."

Dean glanced uneasily at his sleeping brother. "He'll kill Sammy just so he can generate a physical image." He looked back at his father, "But…why Sammy?"

"I wish I knew."

Father and son sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them lost in their own thoughts, until Dean's strong and determined voice abruptly ended the tense tranquility.

"Well, one thing's for sure. He's gonna have one helluva fight on his hands if he thinks he's getting Sammy."

And, at that moment, from the bed where the youngest Winchester still lay asleep, came a low and ominous chuckle...


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: First off...big apology for the length of time it took to post this chapter. Most of you are unaware that I am an Accountant and I just finished the busiest - and worst - two months of the year! But it's over now and I will be able to devote more time to writing - and finishing this story!_

_So again, I'm sorry. And subsequent chapters should be posted more regularly now._

_Thanks for reading!_

* * *

With the echoes of the ghoulish laughter resonating throughout the room John sprang from his chair, quickly drawing his gun and targeting his youngest son. He had just reached the side of the bed when his gun was viciously knocked to the side, instantly displacing his aim. He hastily tried to re-aim but an overwhelmingly strong force pushed the muzzle of the gun harmlessly toward the wall. 

"_**What the hell do you think you're doing?**_" demanded Dean angrily, his right hand clasped firmly around the barrel of the gun.

"You heard it, Dean!That's_ not _Sammy!"

"_Of course it's Sammy! He's just asleep! And he's dreaming! Now put the gun away before someone gets hurt!_" Dean decreed angrily as he wrestled with his father for control of the weapon.

"_Not until I'm sure that's him_"

"Dammit, Dad_ -_ _**that's Sam!**_ Nowgive me the damn gun unless you're lookin' to get shot too!"

But Dean's ultimatum went unheeded and an uneasy standoff lingered as both John and Dean remained anchored in place with neither of them willing to re-analyze their take on the situation nor relinquish control of the gun. John clutched the handle of the gun securely with both hands while Dean's tight-fisted grip on the barrel kept it pointed away from his brother. Dean knew that his father was unlikely to surrender the gun, so he cautiously used his free hand to remove his gun from the back of his jeans and, in one steady, fluid motion, aimed the gun at the ceiling before he placed his forefinger on the trigger and left it there, hoping to convey just how serious he was about this.

But it wasn't until Dean finally cocked the hammer that John spoke. "Put the gun down Dean."

"Hand yours over first."

"I am _not_ giving you my gun."

"Then mine's not goin' anywhere either."

John decided to try reasoning with his eldest son. _"_Dean, we simply can't be sure that's really Sammy. And until we're absolutely positive, we have to be very careful."

"Careful I get," replied Dean, "But aiming a loaded gun at him is goin' _way_ overboard."

"No it's not Dean. It's just being cautious."

"That's not cautious. It's overkill."

"You sound like you think I really intended to shoot him," replied John.

"Seemed like that's what you musta had in mind when ya pulled your gun. Never known you to play games with a loaded weapon."

"I told you, Dean – I was just being careful. But if he had given me any reason to pull the trigger…"

"There'd never be a reason good enough for me to stand by and let you do that," stated Dean emphatically. "So ya might as well just give me the gun."

"No, Dean. But if you put yours down, I'll do the same."

"Don't think so. You're gonna have to go first."

"Dean, I'm ordering you to put your gun away. Now."

"Not happenin', Dad."

"You're going to disobey a direct order?"

"Looks that way," stated Dean firmly. "At least until you hand over your gun."

"Dean…This isn't a game,_"_ warned John sternly.

But Dean wasn't about to be intimidated by his father; it had been a long time since he'd been an obedient adolescent and he certainly wasn't about to revisit his past now. And, although it took a little while, John eventually came to the realization that his son wasn't the same compliant youth of days-gone-by and wasn't likely to back down on this simply because he'd ordered him to. Not when he considered the issue of Dean's devotion to Sam into account and the fact that he was now willing to risk an all-out armed confrontation proved ever further how deep that devotion went. So John decided to acquiesce and slowly lifted his finger from the trigger of his gun. But his gaze never left Dean's face and he didn't make any move to surrender the weapon.

There was only so far he was willing to go.

And they both knew that.

Realizing just how out of character it was for his father to give in first, Dean immediately uncocked his gun and slowly lowered the weapon down to his side. But he didn't put it away, instead holding it alongside his leg as he a maintained a tight grip on the barrel of his father's gun. John ceded the next move, carefully unwrapping his left hand from the gun before he swung his arm out to the side, leaving it raised at shoulder-level. With his father having released the gun with his steadying hand, Dean slowly unfurled his fingers from around the barrel and relinquished control of the gun to John; but he watched his father closely for any indication than he might be thinking of re-cocking or re-aiming it. But John opted out of pursuing the matter and slowly lowered his weapon.

"Don't try that again, Dean." he cautioned as he placed the gun back in the waistband of his jeans. "You might not like the outcome."

"Yeah. You either," responded Dean curtly, also stowing his gun.

However strained, the standoff had been defused and the two men stood silently side-by-side as they diligently stared Sam. But the youngest Winchester was fast asleep and oblivious to the tension he had inadventently created in the room. His sinister laughter had long since vanished and there had not been repeated. In fact, watching Sam sleep peacefully, it was hard to believe that he had ever issued a sound.

"What makes you so sure he's not a doppelganger?" John queried eventually. "Or something worse."

"You're just gonna have to trust me on this Dad. Because that's Sammy and he's just having nightmares."

"You know this, how?"

Dean glanced at his father before he launched into a revealing narrative, "Because you used to have nightmares too. Lots of them. They started after Mom died. And they got worse with every hunt you went on. Sometimes you'd yell out so loud in your sleep that you'd wake Sammy up. He'd get out of bed to go make sure you were okay but he very rarely got you to wake up. You'd usually just incorporate him into your dream, mistaking him for whatever monster you were after. Sometimes you'd even threaten to kill him if he came any closer. Which would be about the time I'd grab him and bring him back to bed with me. Then I'd spend the rest of the night trying to get him to calm down and go back to sleep."

John staring dumbfounded at his son; Dean's revelation had hit him like a ton of bricks. He didn't have any recollection of any of this.

Dean hesitated and took a deep breath, "Ya scared the crap outta him, Dad. And me too. But I knew you were just havin' a hard time reconciling what you'd done with what you'd grown up believing was reality. But I never doubted that you were still you. And it never occurred to me that you might be possessed. Or maybe be somethin' else altogether. I knew you were tormented. Just like Sammy's tormented now. But I never considered shootin' you. Not once."

John was quiet as he contemplated Dean's words. He slowly eased his way back into a chair, wiping his hand across his brow as he leaned back in the seat. He rubbed his chin absentmindedly as he stared without blinking at his youngest son and couldn't believe that he had actually thought about shooting Sam. Seriously thought about it. Even though there'd been nothing to provoke it. Nothing to facilitate that kind of response. Sam had only laughed. And, aside from it being a dark and sinister laugh, it hadn't established anything. It had simply been a manifestation of whatever was going on in his beleaguered son's mind. And, given all the things he had recently undergone, it really wasn't all that surprising that whatever came out of his mouth would be foreboding.

John sighed. He glanced at his eldest son and admitted despairingly, "I don't know how to help him, Dean."

"Well, we can't just sit here waiting for Mephistopheles to try to kill him again. There must be some way we can stop him."

"This is completely uncharted territory, Dean. There's nothing anywhere that gives us a tangible idea on how to get rid of Mephistopheles. All the folklore is too tangled up in religious propaganda."

"He is a Christian demon so maybe we need take a closer look at some of that religious mythology. Seems as good a place to start as any."

"There may be one other thing that might help us," suggested John hesitantly. "Something your doppelganger said to me just before it burnt to a crisp."

"And what was that?"

"That Sattva can destroy Mephistopheles."

"That's great, Dad. Where are we gonna find him."

"Sattva isn't a 'him, Dean.' It's an 'it.' It means purity. Goodness. Righteousness."

So, basically he just told you that good conquers evil. Just like in every fairytale passed down from generation to generation. And every movie or television show that's ever been made. It doesn't really help us much. But what exactly does it have to do with Sammy?"

"I wish I knew, Dean. But I'm pretty sure that creature was trying to tell me that Sammy has the ability to defeat Mephistopheles."

"Right. Because he's so innocent and good."

"Maybe it has more to do with his outlook. He's never been corrupted by the things he's seen or done. Or by our lifestyle. He hasn't let it envelop him. And he doesn't automatically see the negative in everything around him."

"You weren't around after Jessica died. He was pretty negative then."

"That's to be expected, Dean. But he got over it, didn't he? He didn't let it define his life, did he? And he still looks for the good in people, doesn't he?"

Dean thought briefly before he conceded, "Well, he's not a shoot-first-ask-questions-later type of guy."

"I didn't think so," concurred John. "And that's what makes him different from you an' me."

"But it still doesn't leave him lily-white. And if purity and goodness are what's needed to defeat Mephistopheles, I doubt very much that Sam's the answer."

John seemingly changed to subject, "This psychic ability of his...how strong is it?"

"I dunno," shrugged Dean. "I don't think he even knows for sure."

"Then…just give me an educated guess."

"Probably pretty strong. And I think it's pretty accurate too. 'Cause as far as I know everything he's seen so far has come true."

"What kind of things does he see?"

"Mostly death. And the events leading up to someone's death. He saw all the deaths that kid Max was responsible for – including mine. That's when he was able to move the cabinet with his mind."

"Because he had seen you die?"

"Yeah, but he got outta the closet and made it upstairs in time to stop Max from shooting me. Sam tried to reason with him, telling Max that killing me and his stepmother wouldn't solve anything. That it wouldn't change what had happened to him. That's when Max turned the gun on himself."

"So he chose to kill himself," stated John pensively before querying. "Anything else I should know about this kid?"

"Just that his psychic abilities were similar to Sam's. And his mother died in exactly the same way as Mom. When Max was six months old too. Sam thought that meant there had to be some kinda connection between the two of them. Something that drew him to this kid."

"He may have been right" responded John. "I think they were being tested."

"Tested? For what?"

"For their reactions to the events. And to discover the potency of their abilities."

But Max's were far more advanced than Sammy's…" began Dean.

"Advanced maybe, but probably not stronger. And that's what Mephesistopheles would be testing them for. To see if one of them was strong enough for him to channel himself through."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because whoever the person is, he has to be strong enough to survive the mental intrusion."

"Survive it? Doesn't it kill them in the end anyway?" questioned Dean perplexed.

"Eventually. But it takes time for Mephistopheles to conjure up a physical image. So the person's mental capacity and psychic abilities have to be strong enough to survive until the manifestation was complete."

"But it was complete," Dean pointed-out, "The thing that was with me looked exactly like Sammy. Acted and sounded like him too. So why is Sammy still alive?"

John rubbed his hands across his eyebrows and sighed. "I don't know Dean. I really don't know. But something must have been missing."

"Well, then we'd better figure it out how to stop him before he comes back and succeeds in killing Sammy," responded Dean determinedly.

With a look of distress on his face, John answered. "Sammy needs time to get better if he's going to be able to save himself from this."

"At least he won't be doin' it alone. We'll be here to help him."

"I just don't know how much help we're going to be," John retorted sadly.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The better part of next three days was spent holed up in the motel to give Sam the time he needed to rest and recover from his injuries. John and Dean both minimized the amount of time that they were away from the room; both of them feeling that Sam was safest if they were both close by. Nevertheless, there were times that going out was unavoidable – but they made sure that at least one of them remained in the room with Sam at all times.

Dean went out to buy salt in order to better protect the room, even though they doubted that it would actually deter Mephistopheles. But it was better than no protection and would at least keep lesser demons and other supernatural beings out. That they were sure of.

Early the next morning John went a used book store that specialized in Christian literature. He was there for over an hour, rummaging hastily through the musty old books and amassing anything that showed promise of containing pertinent information on Mephistopheles. He didn't have the time it would take to properly peruse the books at the store, choosing instead to purchase all of them and take them back to the motel. The unexpected cost of the myriad of books he purchased proved to be a significant set-back to his already limited finances and coupled with the pre-payment he had made for the motel room he was left all but broke. And he sincerely doubted that Dean had any extra money either.

After lugging the books into the motel room and plopping them down on the small table in the corner, John turned to examine his youngest son; Sam was sleeping and John was happy to see that some of the visible bruising was beginning to fade. Hopefully that was an indication that the rest of his injuries were healing as well. He was resting quietly and didn't appear to be in any mental distress. And, although John was grateful that Sam seemed to be at peace, he knew better than to take it at face value. Things could change in an instant.

As if sensing his father's trepidation, Dean remarked, "He hasn't moved a muscle since you left."

Casting his oldest son a quick glance, John nodded before he turned his attention back to the abundance of books cluttering up the table. Dean got up from the bed he had been lazing on, flicking off the television as he wandered over to glance through the books his father had brought back.

As he neared the table, Dean let out a slow whistle, "How much did all this cost?"

"More than I'd hoped," replied John gruffly as he flipped to the index of the book he had selected.

"Too bad we don't have Sammy's laptop," commented Dean, searching through for something that caught his interest.

"I doubt most of what's in these books has ever been re-written onto the internet," commented John as he settled into a chair.

"Yeah? Why's that? Isn't everything on the internet these days?"

"Not everything. And Mephistopheles probably isn't of interest to anyone other than a handful of extremely religious and devoted scholars. Everyone else would probably just list Mephistopheles another pseudonym for Satan which would leave whatever information is on the internet as tainted. We have to dig up the original lore if we're gonna find anything that can help us."

"Guess that means we got a lotta reading to do," replied Dean half-heartedly. He picked up a well-worn hardcover book and read the title: Doctrine of Celestial and Diabolic Beings for Fundamental Christians. "Jeez….Why didn't they just call it "A Beginner's Guide to Angels and Demon's 101'?"

Three hours of reading later, Dean tossed the book he had most recently been reading onto the floor into the pile of previously discarded literature. He leaned back in his chair and wiped his hands over his eyes. He straightened up and glanced over at his father, who had his nose buried deep into another ancient-looking book.

Stifling a yawn Dean ventured, "I don't know about you but all this reading has made me hungry." After receiving no answer from John, Dean tried again, "Dad? I could really use something to eat. How 'bout you?"

Still no response.

"Dad? I'm dyin' here. Whaddya say we get somethin' to eat?"

More silence.

"Earth to Dad," Dean tried a little more vocally this time, "Does the topic of food ring any kind of bells with you? "Cause I really need something to eat?"

"Huh?" uttered John absently as he looked up. "Sorry? Whaddya say?"

"Food? Sustenance? Mean anything to you? 'Cause I'm pretty sure there's gotta be a pizza out there somewhere with my name on it."

"What time is it?" asked John, glancing at his watch. "Eight o'clock already. I guess we should get something to eat." Looking back at Dean he asked, "Got any money?"

"Yeah, about ten bucks."

"Beats my five. Guess we'll hafta pool our resources if we're gonna eat? Any suggestions for a place close by?"

"There was a pizza joint a couple-a-blocks from where I bought the salt. I'm pretty sure a saw a sign in the window advertising a large pizza for ten bucks. We got enough to get that."

"Sounds good," replied John as he stretched wearily in his chair.

John looked over at Sam, noticing that he had barely moved in all the time they had been buried in their research. Some of the things that John had read had led him to suspect that Sam may be more susceptible to channeling Mephistopheles while he was asleep. And that caused him concern. Especially now that it was dark. And Sam had been resting for over twenty-four hours.

But all he said to Dean was "Don't be gone any longer than you have to be." Then he tossed his money on the table.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean sauntered into the mom-and-pop pizzeria, ordered and paid for the pizza before he casually took a seat at one of the three tables that flanked the front window. Staring out at the surrounding area he spotted a neon sign that overhung the doorway to a small licensed restaurant. Based on the name – Chuck's – dean doubted that it was much of a restaurant. Probably more of a bar. And with any luck it would have a pool table. That would give him a chance to earn a little bit of money.

Dean turned to the man behind the counter, "How long for the pizza?"

"'Bout twenty minutes. Ya want somethin' ta drink while you're waitin'?"

"Nah. Thanks anyways," responded Dean as he got up from his chair and headed toward the door. "Got somethin' I gotta do. Keep the pie warm for me 'til I get back, will ya?"

He walked across the street, adjusting the collar on his coat in response to the chill in the night air. Standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant Dean peered through the smoke-filled window to establish the layout of the tiny establishment. His first glance proved his initial assessment correct; there was a bar in the far corner of the elongated room and most of the current customers were perched on stools staring at the image on a television on the wall. And the familiar outline of a pool table was visible underneath the shadowy glow of a oblong lamp suspended from the ceiling above it.

Dean's arrival in the shoddy room went unnoticed by everyone except the bartender, who cast him a suspicious glare. But he quickly turned to fill the glass of one of his more desperate patrons, leaving Dean free to make his way to the bar without incident. He sidled up to the end of the wooden counter, pulling his wallet from his pocket and surveying the room at the same time. There were only about ten people in the place; all of them seated at the bar except for the two guys who were playing pool and one other fellow standing in the corner watching them.

Dean pulled a twenty dollar bill from a hidden niche in the back of his wallet. His contingency money. Kept there for occasions like this; when he really needed to make the money. He used it to pay for his beer before he sauntered over to the pool table, taking a long swig of his beer and watching the remainder of the pool game that was in progress. When it ended unceremoniously with the eight-ball disappearing into a side pocket, the man in the corner stepped in to take the loser's place. Dean watched the next game with shielded interest, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to himself. It didn't take him long to realize that neither man was much of a pool-player and that he'd easily be able to score a few bucks before he had to leave. So, when the next game started, he slipped a five-dollar-bill on the side of the pool table and went to sit on a nearby barstool.

Dean easily won his first two games, making sure he held back just enough so he didn't scare-off or antagonize his opponents. He had just racked up the balls for another game when a boisterous horde of revelers walked in, almost doubling the clientele. The half-dozen or so riffraff strolled up to the bar, noisily demanding their choice of beverages from the bartender. Noticing that most of the bar's patrons seemed uneasy by their presence Dean kept a discrete eye on them as he continued the pool game.

By the time the last of the newcomers had received their first round of drinks, some of the earliest ones served had already finished theirs and they loudly demanded more, insisting that the bartender simply leave the bottles on the bar so they could serve themselves. Recognizing the beginning of a tumultuous situation, Dean decided it was time to make a hasty exit and concentrated on ending the pool game as quickly as he could; his opponent's ire be damned. Because as much as he normally enjoyed a good fight, tonight just wasn't a good night. Besides, the pizza would be ready now and he was still hungry.

And he'd left Dad alone with Sammy.

Picking up his winnings, Dean quickly downed the remainder of his beer and headed toward the door. He was only steps away from the exit when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Hoping that it was simply another potential pool-player wanting a quick game, Dean turned around politely, ready to make his apologies for having to leave.

But it was one of the new arrivals who had stopped him and Dean was instantly gripped with a feeling of urgency. He had seen this man before. There was something agonizingly familiar about his disheveled appearance and the lifeless expression in his eyes filled Dean with dread.

"Hey, Kate! Don't we know this guy?" queried the drunken stranger to some girl that was standing at the bar.

Dean saw a dark-haired woman turn toward them and toss her hair behind her shoulders. Her darkened eyes seemed to widen in recognition and she wandered over with a slightly evil grin on her face. Dean watched her walk somewhat provocatively toward him and realized that he had a vague recollection of having seen her somewhere before too.

As she slowly sidled up to him, Dean cleared his throat, "I think you musta mistaken me for someone else. I'm not even from this town and I've never been here before.."

"Neither have we, Sweetheart" purred the woman as she drew up to a close in front of Dean. "But I never forget a face. Or a kiss." Her expression suddenly turned sinister, "No matter how awful it was."

"See, that's where you're mistaken," insisted Dean light-heartedly, "Because I definitely would have left a better impression. And I'm not really a love-em-and-leav-em type of guy." Even though he was hoping to come across as carefree and debonair, he was actually trying desperately to remember where he had encountered these people before.

"Is that so? Because I'm pretty sure you told me different. In fact, your exact words were that you rarely stay with a chick for that long. Definitely not for eternity."

Dean's eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief and horror as the girl's words jolted his memory and recognition finally dawned. He knew who they were. And more specifically, who the girl was. And why she was so interested in him. Which made him pretty sure that their meeting wasn't simply a coincidence. It was more like a calculated trap.

Because hadn't his father said that once vampires had your scent, they never let go? And she had ample reason to be hunting them.

After all, they had attacked her colony. And his father _had_ killed her mate.


	17. Chapter 17

John set the open book face down on his lap and rubbed his hands across his eyes. The antiquity and religious vocabulary written in the books was beginning to wear him down. Not to mention the gigantic headache it had given him. And he was hungry now. He hadn't eaten all day. He glanced at his watch; Dean had been gone for over forty minutes.

He looked over at Sam. His lack of movement worried John. Although it was indicative of REM sleep, it could just as easily be a result of an unwanted intrusion into his mind. And while REM sleep generally lasted only a few hours, Sam had remained virtually immobile for the better part of an entire day. Even though he had been through a lot – both emotionally and physically – John doubted that his inactive slumber was due solely to his body's need to recuperate.

Especially when John considered everything he'd learned so far.

Although the general consensus seemed to be that Mephistopheles was, for reasons unknown, physically confined to Hell, he remained an enigma. Even the most devout Christian scholars didn't agree on his identity. There were too many contradictions in what John had uncovered during the course of his research. Some thought he was more powerful than Satan yet bound to serve under him in order to maintain the fragile balance between good and evil and the ages-old agreement between God and Satan. Others thought him a spawn of Satan and the demonic equivalent of Jesus. Still others believed he was a simply a lesser demon who had somehow succeeded in gaining Satan's trust and established himself as a noteworthy lieutenant capable of heading up a satanic army.

All their indeterminate conjecture simply resulted in a multitude of possible scenarios on how to banish Mephistopheles, every single one of them plausible but none of them guaranteed. Which only left the definitive answer as elusive as it had ever been with no way to firmly establish which theory was correct. And which one would successfully help Sammy.

John ran his hands through his hair, more worried now than he had ever been. To make matters worse he hadn't uncovered anything to prove his belief that those rakshasas had actually been guarding Sam and saving him from whatever nefarious fate Mephistopheles had planned for him. John still only had his instincts to go on. And although he normally felt comfortable trusting his intuition, this situation was far too close to home; if he happened to be wrong, his youngest son would pay the ultimate price.

And that wasn't a consequence that John wasn't willing to accept.

He looked at his watch; Dean had been gone for over fifty minutes. What the hell was taking him so long? John pulled his phone out of his pocket, flipped it open and pressed the pre-programmed button holding Dean's number. He raised the phone to his ear and listened as it rang. But after the third ring there was no answer. And in the middle of the fourth ring, the line inexplicitly went dead. Slightly perplexed, John dialed the number again.

But before the call had even had a chance to connect, Sam suddenly began to flail around violently on the bed; his arms and legs thrashed uncontrollably in all directions while his head tossed franticly from side to side. He appeared to be suffering a great deal of anguish but whether it was mental, physical or a combination of both remained unclear. But the sweat forming on his brow combined with the look of dread that encompassed his face caused John to fear that Mephistopheles was once again attempting to overtake his son's mind.

So without a second thought geared toward Dean, John slammed his phone shut and bolted over to Sam's side. Sitting precariously on the bed, John remained uncertain how he should proceed. Just as he tentatively reached out to touch him, Sam began to mumble incoherently. At first his ramblings appeared to be nothing more than the musings of his semi-delusional mind, but as soon as John put his hands on Sam's shoulders to still his movements, the muddled prattle was replaced with articulate phrases that carried an ominous overture.

"No!…No!…Dean!...Be careful!... Vampires!…Behind you!…Watch out!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean awoke with a wicked headache and the immediate realization that he didn't have a clue where he was. Although it was obvious that he had been tied up and tightly secured to something thick and rough, which was in all probability a large tree. One that was big enough to ensure that he wouldn't be able to uproot it in order to free himself. The air around him smelled dank, like decomposing vegetation, which led him to believe that he was being held in some secluded part of a forest, far enough away from civilization where he'd be sure to remain undiscovered. But as far as he could tell, besides the splitting headache, he was still in relatively good shape. Nothing felt broken or bloody and he didn't seem to be feeling any ill effects from an involuntary donation of blood.

At least the vampires hadn't been feeding on him.

Yet.

But that could change the minute they knew he was awake. Because a conscious, alert victim sure beat the hell out of a comatose, oblivious one. Especially when there was a grudge to settle. And Dean was sure this one was going to be settled in blood.

His blood.

And there wasn't going to be anything nice about this settling of scores either. No wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am-drain-all-his-blood-and-leave-him-for-dead reprisal. Nope. Not with these guys. They'd all want to take a piece out of him. Or, to be more exact, a few ounces of his blood. Because this wasn't just about Kate and her murdered lover. It was every single one of them seeking vengeance for their slain leader.

And Dean was the sacrificial lamb who was going to pay the Winchester's debt.

Problem was, he wasn't planning on just sitting around and waiting for such a ghastly fate. There was just too much doom, gloom and misery in it to be much fun. Not to mention the fact that the final outcome also left a lot to be desired.

So Dean concentrated on the sounds and movements around him; hoping to pick up some valuable clues. If he was going to be able to mount a successful escape, he needed to lessen the variables. He had to know exactly how many adversaries he was up against; their current positions and, if possible, find out which direction would lead him back to town.

But the wind rustling through the leaves obliterated any sounds he might have otherwise been able to pick up. The only other thing he could make out with any clarity was the cackle of firewood as it burned somewhere off to his left. But he wasn't close enough to receive any benefit from its heat, which, in all likelihood, meant that the vampires weren't close by and didn't pose an immediate threat to him either.

Without lifting his head, Dean discreetly opened his eyes to survey the area insomuch as his limited vision would allow him. But both the darkness and erratic placement of the nearby vegetation obscured most of the surrounding landscape. And the fire was out of his line of sight, some place diagonally behind him. Using extreme caution, Dean turned his head sideways until he could see the bonfire out of the corner of his eye. And sure enough, the shadowy outlines of at least a half-dozen humanoid figures were visible sitting motionlessly around the fire.

The lack of movement from his captors boosted Dean's confidence and he turned his head to get a better look at them. And it looked like they were meditating. But since when did vampires meditate? Maybe they were praying. Or whatever type of satanic litany went along with serving the devil. Whatever it was that they were doing, they were thoroughly engrossed in it. And oblivious to anything else around them. Which would make it that much easier for Dean to make his escape.

Keeping a vigilant eye on the distant gathering, Dean cautiously maneuvered his body until the small of his back was resting against the tree. He tugged against the restraints that held his arms firmly behind his back until he was able to slip his index finger into the back pocket of his jeans, wiggling it further into the pocket until he reached the top of the lighter that he always kept there. He usually used it to burn corpses and the like, but now he needed it for an entirely different purpose.

Slowly inching the lighter upwards, Dean finally succeeded in sliding it to the top of the pocket. Once there, he gripped it between two fingers and lifted it out of his pocket. He spun it around until he held the base of the lighter in the palm of his hand before testing it to make sure he wouldn't have a problem igniting it. As he gently thumbed the ignition wheel, Dean glanced back toward the fire. But nothing had changed; the vampires remained absorbed in their unholy sacrament.

Dean altered his body position yet again; this time shifting his full weight onto his left side toward the fire, hoping to make it look like he had slumped over in his sleep. But his real intention was to conceal his actions as he attempted to burn through the rope in order to free himself. Of course, the trick was to be able to free himself without igniting himself or his clothes on fire. And he had no idea just how flammable the bindings were, making this a risky escape. But it was his best – if not only - hope of making a quick getaway. He didn't have a weapon and even if the knife he kept strapped to his ankle was still there, he had no way of retrieving it without attracting a lot of unwanted attention.

Chancing another quick look at his captors, Dean scrapped the ground behind him until he had accumulated a small handful of dirt which he used to rub over the short length of rope that was within his limited reach. He was hoping that it would act as a deterrent and prevent the rope from erupting into flames. It was a long-shot but he figured it was still worth a try. So as soon as he had finished coating the rope with the dirt, Dean pulled his hands as far apart as the restraints would allow before he flicked the thumb-wheel of the lighter.

The intense heat from the lighter seared the back of his hand as he held the lighter in place and waited for the rope to catch fire. Dean ground his teeth tightly together to stop himself from shouting out against the pain, silently praying that the ensuing result would be worth all the suffering. Just as he was beginning to doubt the effectiveness of his plan the flame finally severed the rope and instantly unfettered his hands. But, as he had expected, the rope had caught fire and its blazing ends burned quickly. With the rope still wound around his wrists the miniature inferno advanced dangerously close to Dean's sleeves. To avoid further injury, Dean whipped his hands down to the ground and ground them fiercely into the dirt as he lifted his body up and sat down heavily on top of his hands to put the final touch on extinguishing the flames.

Shaking his hands free of the charred bindings, Dean grabbed the rope and unwrapped it from around his body at the same time as he turned to check yet again on his captors. As his gaze settled on the surreal scene encircling the fire pit, he thought he caught a glimpse of some sort of image hovering above the flames. But before he could get a proper fix on the apparition it disappeared and Dean thought nothing more of it. He had other things to worry about. Like getting out of there. He quickly swung his body over to the far side of the tree, away from the vampires. Then he drew his legs up and hurriedly untied the rope that bound them together.

Before standing up, Dean peered cautiously around the tree to review the vampires' status and this time he was sure he saw something in the air directly above the fire. But he blinked and it was gone. Unsure what kind of satanic ritual he was witnessing, Dean decided that he didn't really want to wait around and find out. He needed to get out of there while the vampires were occupied and whatever ceremony they were currently involved in sure beat the hell out the one where they'd be feasting on him. Dean hastily jumped to his feet, spinning around to face the bonfire in order to keep an eye on the vampires as he began to inch his way out of the camp.

But he stopped dead as his brain took in the unsettling spectacle in front of him.

For there was a macabre likeness of his brother suspended eerily inside the dancing flames of the fire.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John withdrew his hands from Sam's shoulders, momentarily shocked by the foreboding words just uttered by his youngest son. Unsure whether Sam was dreaming, remembering a past event of foretelling the future, John was perplexed at how he should proceed. Should he leave Sam alone until he provided more details of what was going on inside his head? Or would it be better to arouse him now and see what, if anything, Sam could tell him about what he had uttered?

Freed from his father's grasp, Sam began thrashing violently on the bed again; whipping himself into such a physical frenzy that John was afraid he was going to re-injure himself. Without further hesitation, John seized Sam's shoulders and pressed him down into the mattress.

"Sam! Wake up!" John ordered urgently, making a conscious decision to break through his son's suffering and end the mental torment.

But Sam's mind was caught in a vortex with his unconscious psyche spinning rapidly beyond his reach. John watched the color fade from Sam's face and felt the rapid increase in his son's heart rate as he appeared to sink deeper into some monstrous gully from which there would be little chance of escape. No further words passed through his lips, replaced instead by a low, monotonous moaning that reeked of death and despair and his flaccid body fell heavily into the mattress as it lost all ability to support itself.

Desperate to save his son, John grabbed his shoulders and began shaking Sam so violently that the legs at the head of the bed actually bounced off the floor.

"Sam! Sammy! Wake up!"

There was still no response as Sam continued to succumb to the overwhelming force that was overtaking his mind until his soulful moaning ceased and a small droplet of saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth when his head sagged listlessly to the side and his body stilled. Realizing that Sam was perishing before his eyes John launched into an urgent and unprecedented recital of Latin exorcistical verses, expertly rhyming them off as quickly as he could.

But despite his best efforts none of them seemed to have any effect.

"Sammy! Wake up! You have to help me find Dean!" coerced John, his desperation evident in his voice. He was hoping to jar Sam's memory using the same words that had preceded his son's affliction by mere seconds. "Where is he? Tell me where to find Dean!"

And by some unforeseen miracle, John words broke through the sinister fog that had engulfed Sam's mind and the life slowly began to return to his body. John waited apprehensively while he watched the color re-emerge in Sam's cheeks. For a brief moment Sam's eyes fluttered involuntarily, making it apparent to John that he was struggling to regain control of his senses until he was finally able to shakily fix his father with a wavering stare. John patiently bided his time as he searched his son's face for the telltale signs of recognition and awareness.

But before John's trepidation was completely erased, Sam jolted upright on the bed, seizing his father's arms and staring urgently at him with terror-stricken eyes. But before John had a chance to collect his thoughts, Sam had yanked the gun from the waistband of his father's jeans. He spun it around in his hand until he was holding the barrel with the gun's grip pointed directly at John.

"Dad!" breathed Sam heavily, "You have to stop me! I'm going to kill Dean!"


	18. Chapter 18

Dean should be running. He knew he should. Running as fast as he possibly could away from this place. But he wasn't. Because he was transfixed in place. Mesmerized by the evolving effigy of his brother as it rotated in slow, tight circles inside the flames of the raging bonfire. He watched with growing trepidation as the surreal image evolved into a picture-perfect replica of Sam. With its abhorrent solidification complete the incarnate being ceased revolving as it spun to face Dean and fixed him with a sinister, piercing glare before it stepped undaunted through the billowing flames and marched directly toward him.

Dean gulped but did not move as the all-too-familiar figure approached, his mind spinning to make some sort of sense out of the nightmarish phenomenon. Starting with a pack of vampires gathered around a fire. And ending after they had conjured up this despicable demonic entity. A demon that just happened to look exactly like his brother.

For what reason? And to what end?

Dean realized that if the demon was here again then Sammy was in trouble. Deep trouble. Because Dean didn't know how he could possibly to get rid of it this time. The last time he had eradicated the thing by dropping his amulet into its hand. And that had been exactly when Sammy had been revived. But Dean sincerely doubted he'd be able to pull that trick off again; meaning he only had a few seconds to come up with another way to get rid of the demon before it would be too late for his brother

But the abhorrent being was upon him and stood towering over him before he'd had a chance to think of anything. Dean stared up at the well-recognizable face only to be taken aback by the unholy sight that met his gaze. The demon's eyes were brimming with a fiery depiction of Hell; a constantly-shifting image of fire and brimstone that seared right through Dean's soul. They were the only tangible evidence that the being in front of him really wasn't Sam.

And if the eyes are indeed the window to the soul, Dean knew exactly where this one belonged.

"I've been looking for you," the demon glowered menacingly in Sam's voice.

"Then it looks like you found me," stated Dean insolently. "Which means the game's over. And you win." He took a step backwards before adding, "So I think I'll just be going now."

But as he stepped back, he collided with a body standing right behind him. He was immediately pushed forward and crashed into the demon with such force that he fell unceremoniously to his knees in front of it. He was shocked by how solid the demon's corporal body was; how lifelike it felt. It was as if he had collided with a real human body

Sam's body.

And that instantly filled Dean with dread.

"What have you done to Sam?" Dean demanded angrily. "Where is he?"

The demon grinned down at him. An evil, foreboding grin. Then it once again leaned over him and enquired fiendishly:

"What do I look like? Your brother's keeper?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John tore the gun from Sam's hand and threw it on the bed beside him. "Sammy, what in God's name are you talking about?" he demanded.

"Dad, you have to stop me! Before I kill Dean!"

"Relax Sammy. Just take a deep breath and relax. You were having a nightmare. But it's over now."

"No Dad! It's not a nightmare! It's real and I'm going to kill Dean unless you stop me!"

"Dean's not even here Sam," John pointed out heatedly. "How can you possibly kill him if he's not even here?"

"Because I'm with him somewhere else! In a forest or some place with lots of trees. And I'm planning to kill him!"

John scrambled to mentally unravel what Sam had just said at the same time as he recalled the conversation he'd had with Dean only the day before. The one about a demonic entity masquerading as Sam while the real Sam was unconscious with him in the truck. So, if Sam had envisioned himself with Dean, odds were good that it had happened again. But Sam was awake now so the demon should be gone – at least for now. It was either that or Sam had had another vision. And that would mean that it hadn't happened. Yet.

Which meant there'd be time to stop it.

"Sam, are you sure you weren't having a dream or a vision?" asked John gently, hoping to dispel his son's terror.

"No, Dad! It's not a dream! Or a vision! And it's still happening! And Dean's going to die unless you stop me!"

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"You have to kill me, Dad! Before I kill Dean!"

"I can't kill you, Sammy!"

"You have to! Or Dean's gonna die! There's no other way to stop it!"

"So either I kill you or Dean dies…Is that what you're telling me?"

"Dad, you have to understand," pleaded Sam urgently, "I'm…I'm not entirely me. My mind…it's…it's just not right. I think it's split in two or something. I can only control part of it. The part that's here. With you. But another part of me is in that forest with Dean."

"What makes you so sure it's not a vision? Or a nightmare?"

"Because I can see it happening. It's like I'm watching a re-run on TV. Only I can't turn it off! And there's no way for me to control it!"

"Then who is controlling it?"

Sam paused and looked at his father with terror-stricken eyes. "I don't know, Dad. I just know that whatever it is is extremely evil and right now it's completely focused on killing Dean. It has to kill him before it can move on and I think it needs me to know what it's doing."

"Why would it need that?"

Sam paused. "To consummate the union."

"What union?" demanded John forcefully, even though he was sure he already knew the answer.

But Sam avoided answering the question. Instead he seized both of his father's forearms and stared deeply into his eyes.

"Dad, it's gonna kill me anyway! And there's nothing you can do to stop it! But Dean doesn't have to die! All you have to do is kill me before I kill him! _Pleeease! _Will you please just do it!"

Sam reached for the gun where it lay on the bed, clutching it by the barrel. But as quickly as Sam had lunged for the weapon, John also grasped the gun around the grip and pressed it firmly onto the bed. And even though he had absolutely no intention of shooting his youngest son, John instinctively slipped his index finger over the trigger.

"Just tell me Sam," he asked bluntly, "Why you have to kill Dean?"

Sam stared at his father, his breathing rapid and uneven, his eyes wild and his skin ashen. He swallowed hard but remained silent as he tried to come to terms with what was happening. Then he blinked apprehensively.

When his eyes reopened, they revealed a deep, dark nothingness that John was sure was actually the pathway that led straight to hell. His eyes were devoid of all human characteristics like sight, recognition and even life; they were so black that John's reflection stared ominously back at him.

Then in an unfamiliar and ice-cold voice Sam finally spoke:

"He has to be sacrificed in order that I may live."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean recognized the words; he just couldn't place them. No matter how hard he tried. And, to make matters worse, he was sure the demon had reconfigured them in order to further obscure their meaning. But he knew the words hadn't been randomly spoken and that it was important for him to discover their meaning if he was going to be able to figure out what was happening now. Dean's mind raced, reeling faster and faster as the demon's words resonated over and over again in his head.

_What do I look like? Your brother's keeper?_

They were not so much questions as clues. Dean was certain of that. Because this demon was, for all intents and purposes, his brother. Or to be more exact – a perfect likeness of him. And that had to be where the answer lay. All Dean had to do was decipher it.

But the demon broke through his concentration by enquiring wickedly, "Well? Am I?"

Dean was ready to respond with a witty comeback when, out of nowhere, it hit him.

_Am I my brother's keeper?_

That was the saying.

Taken right out of the Old Testament.

Cain.

Speaking about Abel.

When he responded to God's inquiry into his brother's whereabouts. But Cain had avoided answering the question. Even though he knew exactly where Abel was. Because Cain had murdered him. Killed him in cold blood because God had favored Abel's sacrifice over his.

And that was what this was all about.

Brothers.

Sacrifices.

And murder.

God had demanded sacrifices from Cain and Abel with Abel offering up his most-blessed newborn sheep while Cain's offering had been part of the yield from his harvest. But God had forsaken Cain's sacrifice and accepted only his brother's. So Cain killed Abel in a jealous rage and, for that, God had banished him from his kingdom forever.

And just as God had required a blood sacrifice so would Satan.

And that's where Dean came in.

Because his death at his brother's hands would appease Satan.

And secure Mephistopheles' ranking in Hell. And reward him with human life. To allow him to lead Satan's army.

And that was why Sam had not died the last time he had encountered the demon; the sacrifice hadn't been made. Because that was what was needed to cement the demon's hold on Sam. And once it was completed Mephistopheles would own his brother's soul for all of eternity.

Only Dean wasn't about to let that happen.

Dean rose from his knees with anger in his eyes. "You filthy, no-good…"

But the demon narrowed its eyes and froze him instantly in place, stopping Dean from completing his threat. Using only his focused and unblinking gaze the demon lifted Dean off the ground and viciously propelled him in the direction of the fire. He kept Dean just a few feet in front of him as he slowly traversed his way to the fire pit with the menagerie of vampires falling silently into formation behind them. As they reached the blazing fire, the demon paused, allowing the vampire's to pass them.

Hovering steadily in the air, Dean was so close to the fire that the heat seared his back. But there was nothing he could do to free himself and he wondered if this was how he was really going to meet his end; his 'brother' killing him to satisfy Satan.

And he had to admit that this scenario had never crossed his mind.

As soon as the vampires had converged on the far side of the fire, the demon thrust Dean fifteen feet straight up in the air before heaving him violently backwards and plunging him downward into the middle of the vampires' gathering. Dean hit the ground with a sickening thud and a sharp jarring pain tore through his entire body. Nevertheless, Dean managed to glance around only to realize that he had landed on top of a very large elevated rock encircled by the vampires. There was silence as the demon walked up to him and paused.

Standing there, in the surreal form of Dean's younger brother, Mephistopheles slowly lifted his hands in the air. As his hands reached shoulder-level, fire emerged from his fingertips. He continued to raise his arms as high as they could go before lowering his head to his chin in order to stare at the ground. There was blood seeping from the corners of his eyes as he stood stock-still until his lips began to move. At first, no discernible sounds passed his lips but the rhythmic motion of the demon's mouth indicated to Dean that he was invoking some sort of evil incantation to his master.

Slowly and quietly, the demon began to speak, although his initial words remained imperceptible to Dean; however he soon discovered that the more he listened to the bizarre chanting the more it sounded like a bastardized form of Latin. As the demon's recitation reached an easily audible level, Dean found he was able to understand the majority of the strange discourse:

_I offer to thee, my maleficent lord…the sole brethren of mine earthy host…whose bloodletting shalt finalize the unification of your loyal servant Mephistopheles with the chosen human vassal…which shalt allow the final battle to commence and ultimately culminate in Armageddon._

Crushed against the massive alter by the demon's immense psychic power, Dean nevertheless continued to try to break free. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't free himself from the demon's hold and he remained helplessly locked in place until the horrible invocation ended. His evil behest concluded, Mephistopheles opened his unseeing eyes to once again reveal the raging fires of Hell. Without further hesitation he positioned his fiery fingertips overtop of Dean's heart, lowering them methodically until they came into contact with his victim's body. As the demon's fingers seared into Dean's chest, burning deeper and deeper into his skin, the pungent smell of scorched flesh permeated the surrounding air.

Succumbing to the excruciating pain, Dean's body arched grotesquely off the stone pulpit until he was unable to conceal his torment any longer and his tortured screams burst uncontrollably from his throat, breaking through the silence of the night.

And at exactly the same time, three-quarters of the way across town, Sam inexplicitly regained control over his mind. He stared at his father in desperation.

"Dad! There's no more time! Dean's dying!"

With his heart in the back of his throat, John lifted the gun off the bed…


	19. Chapter 19

Caught completely off guard when the butt of the gun slammed viciously into the side of his head, Sam was immediately knocked unconscious, his suddenly limp body plummeting rapidly downwards. John didn't even have time to drop the gun before he hastily seized his son's shoulders and gently eased him onto the bed. As soon as Sam was lying safely on the mattress, John tossed the gun onto the nightstand and turned back to assess Sam's physical condition, carefully checked both his breathing and heart rate to ensure that, other than the fact that he'd just been rendered unconscious, he remained otherwise unhurt.

John was surprised to discover that the color in Sam's cheeks had returned to normal and all the bruising had disappeared. His curiosity raised, John lifted Sam's t-shirt and saw the same change on his son's body; the discoloration that had covered his broken ribs was gone. He ran his hands gently over Sam's ribcage and was only somewhat taken aback to discover that, by all appearances, his ribs had also healed. And, as John glanced quickly over the rest of Sam's body, he was willing to bet that the bones he had broken in the accident had been fixed too. But he knew it wasn't a miracle; it was Mephistopheles' handiwork.

A side-effect of acquiring Sam's life. And a frightening sign that it was almost completed.

Although there was no way of knowing for sure if all Sam's injuries had healed, John carefully reached over and unclasped the brace around his neck. Using his arm to support Sam's neck and upper back, he slid the brace out from underneath him. Once again, there was no evidence of trauma and the only indication that Sam had been hurt at all was the swelling on his temple where John had hit him with the gun only a few moments before. But John knew that if his hypothesis was wrong, Sam would be in a lot of pain and would barely be able to lift his lead when he finally did awaken.

"Sorry Sammy," he uttered quietly, but it was more to convince himself that everything he'd done in the last few minutes had been the right thing than it was an apology to his son at this point. "But I'm right and Mephistopheles has healed you, you're in way more danger than I know how to fix right now. And if you're right and he needs you to be awake to witness whatever he's up to, then that can't happen either. At least, not until I can figure out how to put a stop to it."

With that John sprung off the bed and headed over to the mess of scattered books that he had left strewn across the floor. Frantically rummaging through the books, he began searching for a particular one because, if memory served him correctly, it contained a passage that mirrored everything that Sam had just described to him. It had been a slow and torturous read; one he had been more than happy to toss aside. But based on what Sammy had just told him, John realized his mistake in doing so. Because it was that book that would provide him with all information he needed to both understand and stop whatever was happening to his sons.

Within seconds John had successfully located the antiquated, hardcover book and he scooped it up and quickly flipped to the index where he just as quickly found the desired reference. Once at the proper page he set the book on his lap and started skimming through the written text until he came upon a vaguely familiar paragraph:

…_for Mephistopheles shall then be called upon to command a vast army of lost human souls into the ensuing apocalypse which shall ultimately end in the battle of Armageddon. But, Satan, being ever mindful of Mephistopheles' own aspirations to supplant him as the uncontested ruler of the underworld, hath forever bound his second-in-command to reside within the confines of Hell, thus forcing the demon to acquire a befitting human host in order that he may successfully beget a physical appearance on earth that will allow him to fulfill this destiny. Great care must be taken in choosing the proper host into whom Mephistopheles must inject the totality of his evil being, for only a medium with consummate control of mind, body, and spirit shall prove capable of surviving his heinous invasion. In order for the defilement to be successful, the chosen medium must also possess a prior intimate and profound knowledge and understanding of Satan's realm lest the adverse effects of assimilating the entirety of Mephistopheles' existence bring about the unfortunate human's demise. But once Mephistopheles has successfully attained mental and physical domination over his selected host, the unification between demon and human shall not be irreversibly solidified until the host is forced to psychosomatically witness a demonic replication of himself perform a Satanic ritual that would, under normal circumstances, be so abhorrent to his very being that, its completion alone, will fracture the remnants of his tortured soul, whereby enabling Mephistopheles to expropriate the medium's body and soul for the duration of eternity..._

John paused and briefly closed his eyes before taking a long, deep breath and glancing worriedly over at Sam. He couldn't help marveling at how peaceful Sam looked as he lay completely still and quiet on the bed. But, as the well-known saying goes, appearances could be deceiving and John knew that that was exactly the case here. Because Sam was most certainly not at peace, he was at war. A psychological war with both Mephistopheles and himself. Because he knew what was happening to him and that he was going to be forced to witness Dean's death at his own hands in order for Mephistopheles to complete the transformation. Yet John knew he wouldn't go down without a fight. Even if it resulted in his own death. He had told him as much. Pleaded with John to kill him before the horrendous deed could be accomplished. And tried to force John to take the gun and do it in order to save Dean's life. Instead, John had taken that gun and knocked him out cold.

But doing that had provided nothing more than a temporary reprieve. John knew that. It had been a hasty and desperate decision to forestall the inevitable. Yet, in hindsight, it had not been a completely rash one. It had, in fact, probably succeeded in saving both Dean and Sammy's lives.

But for how long remained uncertain.

But at least now John understood why Mephistopheles had fixated on his youngest son; his intimate knowledge of all things supernatural combined with his untapped psychic abilities had turned him into the perfect candidate. Add to that his devotion to his older brother and it equaled everything Mephistopheles needed. And the demon had known it would. From the time Sammy was a baby. He had tried to take him once and, when that had failed, patiently bided his time, waiting in the shadows, until he knew he could successfully enslave Sammy.

He had waited until Sam was mature enough to survive the defilement. Killed his girlfriend when he thought she might get in the way and waited until he was once again ensconced in hunting the supernatural. Refreshed his memory and honed his senses and skills. Waited until Dean and Sam had rekindled most of their past relationship. And once everything was firmly in place, Mephistopheles had attacked and was now only moments away from destroying both his sons.

Yet John still lacked sufficient knowledge to stop him.

Desperate to uncover that knowledge, John turned his attention back to the book. He skimmed hastily through the next few pages of the book until he came upon a passage that detailed the events leading up to the apocalypse…

_The apocalypse shall come at a time when the vast majority of mankind has strayed away from the teachings of God and off the path of righteousness, thus providing Satan with the opportunity to stake his claim on this multitude of nonbelievers. Those most susceptible to Satan's pursuit shall be those dissenters who are mentally equipped with any one of a wide variety of telepathic sensibilities for it is these unsanctioned anomalies that will more readily allow for demonic possession, ultimately providing Satan with the means to empower each and every demon in the underworld, regardless of their religious origin, to assume control of these psychics, thus laying the groundwork for them to tyrannize the remaining heretics and atheists._

_Once that hath been successfully accomplished Satan shall then provide Mephistopheles with a legion of his most loyal servants; those evil beings whom Satan's hath created to be the paradoxical equivalent of the Lord, Jesus Christ. Armed with this merciless army of heinous antichrists under his command, Mephistopheles shall be entrusted with engaging the remainder of those humans still loyal to God's teachings in battle. But, along with the vast number of atheists who have previously deserted the church, millennia of governmental and religious fracturing will have inadvertently generated massive dissention amid God's remaining disciples, further negating their ability to fruitfully unite together and achieve victory in the apocalyptic war. And while a fierce and deadly battle between the forces of good and evil shall inevitably ensue, this unprecedented and disastrous set of circumstances may very well prove to be enough to ensure the destruction and spiritual death of all that God's hath created on earth…_

So there it was. Cryptically written for all to see. If anyone cared. Or bothered to read it. Let alone believe the confusing text. Which, in all likelihood was why this book had never gained acceptance by the church. Not only did it outline Satan's plan - to dethrone God and assume control over mankind – the author stated how Satan was going to win and become the ultimate ruler of earth. Without creating any threat to himself. Because he'd be safe in Hell and Mephistopheles would be at the helm.

With Sam smack dab in the middle of it. The perfect pawn for Mephistopheles.

And it was all John's fault. Because of the lifestyle he had imposed on his children. The things he had made them do and learn. The importance of family he had instilled in both his boys. He had unwittingly set the stage for Armageddon.

And he still had no idea how to stop it. That knowledge remained as elusive as ever. As did finding a way to save Sammy.

And Dean.

Because right now he was probably in more immediate danger then Sam. Even though, just like Sam, he had been granted a temporary reprieve. A stay of execution that with luck, would last as long as Sam remained unconscious. But John had no way of knowing what Dean's current predicament was like or what he had already been through. He didn't know if Dean was even conscious or able-bodied enough to be able to help himself at this point.

And as long as Sam remained unconscious, Dean's destiny would remain a mystery.

To make matters worse, John was convinced that, wherever he was, Dean was being held captive by vampires. Because Satan would have already unleashed the vampires to help Mephistopheles. And their first assignment would have been to capture Dean and take him to the demon. That much was certain. Because Dean had already told him that they had run across a pack of vampires a few months ago. And, just before he woke up, Sam had yelled out for Dean to watch out for vampires behind him. So couple that with what he had just read about Mephistopheles and his army of antichrists and John didn't need to be convinced further.

Even if John had just put a temporary halt to Mephistopheles' solidification, the vampires would still be there. Waiting for the ritual to continue by guarding the sacrificial lamb. And escaping those beings would be the greatest hurdle of Dean's life. And unless John could figure out a way to help him, he'd have to do it alone.

Because there was no way in hell he was going to let Sammy wake up.

Turning back to the book, John read quickly through the next few paragraphs. They seemed to contain nothing more than detailed information about Armageddon. And that's not what John wanted to know. He didn't care about that because he was planning to stop it before it started. He just needed to find out how. And his interest was peaked as he reached the very bottom of the page…

_However, an opportunity shall remain wherein the apocalypse may yet be averted. But as Satan will have built up the walls around Hell to remain untouchable, the demon Mephistopheles must be challenged. And it shall be by forcing him to come face to face with his own limitations that will bring about his destruction…_

It was then that a low guttural groan wafted across the room, interrupting John's reading. He looked up and glanced over at Sam just in time to witness his son begin to stir and his eyes slowly flutter open and closed.

And he knew that time had just run out.

For all of them.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A sharp, harrowing pain ripped violently through Dean's chest as he was overcome by the horrible sensation of an ice-cold, skeletal hand burrowing into his skin, followed by an even more intense pain as cadaverous, claw-like fingers infiltrated his chest cavity, groping violently inside him until they had completely encircled his heart. Then, clutching the life-giving organ, the intrusive appendage began pulling it unmercifully from Dean's body. He screamed against the pain, wishing only for a swift death to put a stop to the horrific agony. But against all odds, he neither died nor even passed-out and in his tortured state, his clouded mind twisted reality to the point that he could only understand exactly what stood in front of him: his beloved brother was going to kill him.

But as the pain encompassed his entire being and sweat dipped down his brow, the echoes of his own screams overwhelmed his mind and made reality that much more difficult to comprehend until, without warning, the torture inexplicitly stopped. His heart was immediately released and the inhuman hand withdrew from his chest, leaving behind only pain and the rapid beating of his heart as reminders of the near-fatal savagery. Fearful that his torment hadn't really ended, Dean squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and held his breath in anticipation for it to start again. Only it didn't. Nothing more happened and he slowly felt his senses begin to clear until the irrationality of what he could have sworn, moments ago, had occurred was gradually replaced by the equally horrid knowledge of what was actually happening.

And the return of the knowledge that his death would be his brother's downfall.

So without wasting any more time, Dean focused his energy on trying to figure a way out of there. Because he knew that as long as he was alive Sammy still had a chance.

Trying to ignore the intense throbbing in his chest, Dean concentrated on his surroundings. But the crackling of the bonfire roaring beside him drowned out any other sounds that might be emanating from the darkness. And the shadows of the dancing flames bouncing off his eyelids made it impossible to determine if anything else was moving in the immediate area. With no other viable options to ascertain what was going on, Dean cautiously opened his eyes and quickly scanned the surrounding area. He was somewhat amazed to discover that the vampires were still engaged in their satanic séance, seemingly unaware that anything untoward had happened. So being as quiet and inconspicuous as he could, Dean inched his way over to the edge of the stone alter and slowly slid to the ground on the far side of the nefarious circle using his arms and legs to cushion his fall.

Still as he hit the compacted dirt, a stabbing pang tore through his chest, forcing him to pause and deal with the pain before he could continue with his escape. Doing so involved using up precious time and Dean knew it. So, while bracing himself as best he could against the physical affliction, he cautiously peered around the rock. So far, so good. Nothing had changed. The fire was still blazing and the vampires were still séancing.

But it wouldn't stay that way for long.

With no time to lose, Dean pulled himself to his hands and knees. But the physical exertion had taken its toil and more pain ripped through his injured body as he gently rose to his haunches. Pausing once more, Dean inhaled as deeply as he could before scurrying over to a nearby tree, slipping behind it and using its thick trunk as a backrest. Safely obscured from view he then ventured a look behind him for any signs of impending danger. But the coast remained clear so, with his hand on his thigh to steady himself, Dean hurried over to his next refuge where he stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow and to once again survey his surrounding.

Ahead the forest grew dark and thick; in all probability sprawling out for an unknown distance. To his right, the vegetation appeared uneven, a mixture of mature and still-growing trees. A soft glow emanated amid their branches, giving Dean the impression that a major road or highway cut through the woods that way. To his left, the foliage was sparse and the majority of the trees and shrubs were young and spindly, leading him to believe that the vampires hadn't ventured far into the forest but remained close to the outskirts. Yet to go that way would be wrought with perils. For one thing, it would take him back closer to the vampires. And the trees simply weren't big enough for him to hide behind. Nor were they close enough for him to be able to run between without being seen. Not to mention the fact that the vampires would probably assume he had figured out that this was the edge of the forest and he headed back that way to make the easiest escape.

But the wind was coming from his left and pushing the smell of burning embers toward him which meant that it would also pick up his scent and carry it along with it. If he followed it and went to the right, his scent would remain ahead of him and the vampires wouldn't be able to track it right away. That would buy him some much-needed time. Making that the way to go. Toward the highway. And safety. So, with one final glance behind him, Dean set his sights on the next tree of his choice and loped unevenly toward it. This time he didn't stop as he darted behind it but quickly scoped out his next target and continued on. By the time he reached the relative safety of its ample girth, he was completely out of breath. But he didn't want to stop just yet so he set off once again. This time he headed for a large tree about thirty feet ahead. He lumbered uneasily ahead, trying desperately to reach it before he expended all his energy.

The journey was harder than he had imagined and he was wheezing heavily as he slid in behind the thick trunk. He covered his mouth with his hand to help stifle his raspy breathing as he slowly let his body slide down the tree trunk until his buttocks hit the ground. At that moment a commotion arose behind him and he knew that his absence had been detected.

Worried that his deteriorating physical condition would thwart his escape, Dean took another deep breath to calm his nerves and try to master the pain. But each breath felt like a incision from a dagger to his fatigued heart and he was unsure how much more he could endure. But this was his only chance of escape and he wasn't going to just sit there and give up. Shifting onto his knees and using the tree for leverage, Dean pushed himself upright and staggered shakily onward. He darted behind and around trees, desperate to gain some distance between him and the vampires. But the sound of their footsteps and muffled voices grew closer and closer. He prayed that they hadn't seen him or picked up his scent.

Because as soon as they did, it was game over.

The torture he had endured had weakened his heart and Dean found himself growing more feeble with each step he took. It became harder and harder for him to continue on and he stumbled erratically through the undergrowth, trying to maintain a straight course in the direction of the road he still believed was somewhere up ahead. Through blurry, sweat-soaked eyes he focused on his destination and as the welcoming light grew closer, Dean was relieved to learn that he had made it to the highway. Concentrating on the din of passing traffic, he pushed forward, trying to ignore his exhaustion.

If he could only make it to the highway, he would be safe.

But with less than ten feet to go to reach edge of the forest, he collapsed. His crippled heart could take no more and Dean found himself welcoming the relief that only unconsciousness – or death – would provide.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John dropped the book and dashed across the room, stopping just before he reached the bed where Sam lay, careful that he didn't disturb him. He stood stoically beside the bed, watching his son and waiting for any further indication that he was waking. But Sam just lay still, apparently restful with his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even.

John observed him quietly for a few minutes before he ventured softly, "Sammy? Can you hear me? Are you awake, Sam?"

But Sam gave no sign that he had heard him causing John to relax a little bit. But he was still wary and he lingered beside the bed. He needed to satisfy himself that Sam really wasn't going to wake up before he went to retrieve his book so he could sit by the bed and read it. He wanted to be closer to Sam - just in case the next time he moved wasn't a false alarm. But as soon as he turned to get the book, he heard a hoarse and barely audible voice behind him.

"Dad? Is that you, Dad?"

John whipped around, his right arm raised and ready to swing. To knock Sam out before he could fully regain consciousness. Not that he really wanted to strike his youngest son again but he as far as he knew there was no other viable choice. Letting him wake up would be far too dangerous.

Sam opened his eyes just in time to see the punch coming. Immediately aware of his father's intentions, Sam quickly spun onto his side and out of harm's way, resulting in John's fist slamming harmlessly into the mattress. Sam continued rolling until he slid off the bed and landed heavily on the floor; the cast on his right leg plummeting to the ground and effectively pinning him there. John reached down, grabbed Sam by the collar, and used it to yank him back onto the bed.

Ensnared by his father and unable to escape, Sam knew that he had little time to change John's mind so he blurted out urgently, "Dad! Stop! Don't hit me!" Trying to shield his head with his arms he continued, "I know what's happening! And I can help! But only if I'm conscious!"

But John wasn't prepared to listen to what Sam might have to say. For all he knew, it was a lie and Mephistopheles was controlling him. Trying to keep Sam awake long enough for him to finish what he had started. So John let the punch fly. And Sam deflected it using the cast as a buffer.

"Dad!" Sam insisted, "I can help save Dean!"

"You don't want to save Dean," countered John harshly, as he got ready to take a second shot at Sam. "You want to kill him!"

"No! _**I **__**don't!**_ But Mephistopheles does! And he will, if you don't listen to me!"

"And let you stay awake long enough to witness it?! I don't think so!"

"But Dad! I can help!" clamored Sam, desperately trying to make eye contact with his through his outstretched fingers. "Mephistopheles is gone! He doesn't know I'm awake!"

John looked suspiciously at Sam, momentarily withholding the punch. "How is that possible?"

"I…I've managed to clear the section of my mind that he created to control me. That's what I was doing after I woke up. And before I spoke to you. I was working on finding a way to block him. So he couldn't figure out I was awake. And I did it. He still thinks I'm unconscious." Sam looked fretfully at his father and added, "I'm pretty sure I've locked him out. But as soon as he figures out what I've done, he'll find another way in."

"How long can you hold him off?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. As long as I have to, I guess. At least long enough to get Dean to safety."

John stared at Sam, his glare steady and threatening. "How can I be sure this isn't a trick? That Mephistopheles isn't behind it until he can complete unification rite?"

"He's not, Dad" stated Sam defiantly. "But I can't prove it. You're just gonna have to trust me."

"And what if I choose not to? What happens then?"

"Then Dean dies. And so do I do. Because Mephistopheles will win. And you won't be able to stop him. Not without my help."

John sighed, unclenching his fist and letting his arm fall to his side. He rapped his knuckles nervously on the bed beside him, a clear sign of his trepidation. He didn't know whether to believe Sam or not. Everything he had read in that book warned him against leaving Sam conscious but something else was overriding that; Sam wouldn't just sit idly by and let Mephistopheles kill his brother. Not without putting up a fight.

And that on its own was worth giving Sam the benefit of the doubt. At least for now.

"What do you know about Dean?" John demanded.

Sam took a deep breath. "He's hurt, Dad. He's hurt really bad. And he's going to die if we don't get to him soon!"

"Do you know where he is?"

"Yeah" nodded Sam. "In the woods on the other side of town. Just off the highway." Sam looked at his father; his voice now full of concern. "Dad, there's something else you should know…He's being guarded by vampires."

"Yeah, I figured as much."

"You did? How?"

"Long story," answered John as he rose from the bed. Glancing down at Sam he inquired, "How's your leg?"

Sam looked at the cast and rotated his leg back and forth as if checking to see if it was healed. "It should be okay. I mean…Wouldn't Mephistopheles have healed it?"

"Should have," agreed John, "But this isn't your everyday-run-of-the-mill-demonic-possession. Not quite sure what happens during a demonic assimilation but I guess we'll find out. Come on with me."

John reached down and helped Sam up, swinging his son's arm over his shoulder so he could walk; after all, the hospital hadn't bothered to put a walking cast on a comatose patient. They hurriedly yet laboriously made their way out to John's truck. John swung the passenger door open and propped Sam up on the seat before he went to the back of the truck and rummaged through his toolbox. Pulling out a hacksaw blade, John quickly broke it in half as he walked back to Sam. Without saying a word, he handed one piece of the broken blade to Sam before he set about removing the cast on Sam's leg. Sam absently held the piece of hacksaw blade in his hand while he watched his father work away at cutting away his cast. Suddenly it dawned on him that he had another cast on his wrist and so, mirroring his father's actions, Sam slowly began sawing off the cast.

John was sweating by the time he finished cutting through the plaster. He threw the dulled blade on the ground before he seized hold of both sides of the cast and ripped them apart, splintering the cast and freeing Sam's leg. Taking time out from his own task, Sam tested his ankle by flexing it a few times.

"It's okay," he stated somewhat astonished.

"Good," replied John as he stood up. "Now get in."

As Sam lifted his leg into the cab, John backed up and swung the door shut. He sprinted over to the driver's door, got in and hastily started the truck. Squealing the tires as he pulled onto the road, John set off for the opposite side of town. The majority of the drive was completed in silence as John concentrated on the drive and Sam worked on removing his cast. As they neared the outskirts of town, Sam finally finished sawing the cast off his arm. He flung it aside and looked out the windshield as he twirled his newly-released wrist. Everything appeared to be in working order. They continued driving for about five minutes before Sam began to focus intently on the surrounding woods.

A moment later, he broke the silence. "I think it's only a couple miles up ahead, Dad. You might want to slow down a bit."

John eased up on the gas and glanced over at Sam. "What else do you know Sam?"

Sam looked at his father but refrained from answering. Instead he swallowed hard and turned back to look out the windshield again.

"Sam, what aren't you telling me?"

Sam suddenly bolted upright. He pointed out the window dead ahead and cried urgently. "There, Dad! Right there! Stop the truck!"

John swerved to the side of the highway and brought the truck to an abrupt halt. It was dark but, try as he might, he couldn't see anything through the windshield besides the flickering shadows of the trees illuminated on the ground. As he searched for whatever it was that Sam had seen, Sam leapt out of the cab and ran through the overgrown grass on the shoulder of the road until he disappeared into the dark woods. Not wanting to lose his sight of his son, John jumped out of the truck and followed as closely as he could in Sam's footsteps. He barged into the thicket just in time to see Sam bend down in front of a collapsed heap on the ground. John slowed but continued walking toward Sam. When Sam stood up, he held the listless body of his older brother in his arms. John paused and as he did so, he noticed shadows moving in the trees all around him. He hurriedly took a step closer to his sons.

And a horde of vampires emerged from the darkness, surrounding them.

John reached for the gun in the back of his jeans. But before he had it firmly in his grip, Sam's voice bellowed through the silence.

"_**Seize him!**_**"**


	20. Chapter 20

John shoved the gun firmly back into the waistband of his jeans before he released it and raised his hands into the air. There was no point resisting. There was nothing he could do against them anyway. He didn't have the proper weaponry to kill any of them. Vampires had to be beheaded. And the Swiss army knife he had in his pocket simply wasn't big enough. Nor was the hunting knife he had strapped to his leg. Besides, there were just too many of them right now. The entire pack had him surrounded and they were obviously prepared for anything he might try. So, given the circumstances, it was just better to surrender and wait for a more suitable opportunity.

There was also the issue of another problem he had to solve first: How to get to Mephistopheles. Because he was an even bigger threat than the vampires and as long as he remained connected to Sammy, killing him was simply out of the question.

And that made John reflect on how stupid he had been. Stupid enough to trust Sam. And equally stupid in deciding to believe him. He had known that Sammy wasn't himself. That, for all intents and purposes, he was possessed. Or - more accurately – he had been infiltrated. Like an enemy camp that had been invaded by its rivals Sam's mind had been penetrated by Mephistopheles. And that made everything about him suspect. Everything he did. And everything he said.

But John had ignored his military training and let emotion and optimism override reason.

And look where it had landed him.

In a secluded woodlot with a demon, an injured, unconscious son, and the largest posse of vampires he had ever seen.

John quickly scanned the ragtag gaggle of abhorrent beings, looking for even the slightest movement that might be perceived as hostile. But all they seemed interested in doing was encircling him so that they would have him completely enclosed. And as soon as they had surrounded him and cut off all avenues of escape, a single female vampire with shoulder-length brown hair continued walking toward him. She walked right up to him and violently seized his right arm, digging her fingernails deeply into his skin as she forcibly lowered it down to his side. John turned his stark and emotionless eyes to look at her, deliberately ignoring the blood that was trickling now down his arm from where she had grabbed him.

"John," she purred wickedly, meeting his gaze "It's so nice to see you again."

"Likewise," replied John tersely, a calculated response intended to conceal the fact that he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. That he had no clue where they had crossed paths before. But he was willing to bet that it had been during that time that Dean had told him about; when they had run into vampires a few months back. Which meant that the John Winchester she had encountered had been his doppelganger. Whatever history they supposedly shared was completely beyond him.

"And showing up here, saving me time having to track you down, well, that's almost too good to be true," she continued unfazed. "Because you really didn't think I was going to forget, did you?"

This time John didn't answer. There was no point revealing the full extent of his ignorance.

But without waiting for a reply, the woman jerked John forward, forcing him to fall in behind Sam who was now heading back into the woods. It wasn't like John needed to be persuaded to follow his son; he'd rather not let him out of his sight anyway. Especially now that Sam was carrying Dean's lifeless body with him. But the farther they ventured into the woods, the darker it became until John had trouble making out Sam's muscular form up ahead. Just as he feared he might actually lose sight of his youngest son, a faint glow filtered through the thick foliage in front of them, followed immediately by the strong waft of burning firewood.

That was all John needed to be convinced that they were heading back to the ceremonial site where Mephistopheles was going to complete his satanic ritual by killing Dean and finally assuming complete control over Sam. Faced with this knowledge, John's apprehension grew and he realized that he had actually been harboring a slight hope that this entire scenario was simply a ruse. A trick that Sam had somehow devised to outsmart the vampires and get the three of them to get out of here.

But, once again his hope had amounted to nothing more than a pipedream. And yet another painful reminder that he should never let his emotions get the better of him. Because the only thing that had been accomplished by allowing that hope to take root was a loss of valuable time. Time that he should have been using to figure a viable way out of this predicament.

Before it was too late.

By now Sam had marched into the clearing, still walking as if the dead-weight of his brother's inert body in his arms was no more of a burden than carrying an armful of textbooks. He strode up to a large rock that seemed to be the focal point of the raging bonfire, stopping abruptly as he reached it. But he didn't lower Dean's body onto the rock immediately; waiting instead until the majority of the vampires had walked past him and taken their places at the fire.

John was led up to where Sam stood and made to wait behind him until everyone had taken their places. And during that time he once again experienced a small flicker of hope that this really was part of an elaborate hoax concocted by Sam. And once again that hope was dashed as soon as Sam turned to face him for the evil John witnessed in his son's eyes matched nothing he had ever seen before. But as John unblinkingly met his son's gaze, he noticed something totally unexpected.

It was the same beseeching look that Sam had bestowed upon him so many times as a child. The sorrowful, pleading look that cried out for John's love and attention.

But then Sam blinked and the look was gone. His gaze shifted away from John and over to the woman that was still holding him by the arm.

"Tie him over there," ordered Sam curtly, indicating a mature tree less than ten feet from where they were standing.

The female vampire led John over to the tree where she was met by two male vampires who had arrived specifically to help tie John to the tree. And, if he had wondered what exactly they were going to use to secure him, the issue was resolved when he noticed a thick rope wound loosely around the base of the tree. Judging by the position and appearance of the rope, John wasn't going to be its first prisoner. They had obviously bound someone else in this very spot. And John was willing to bet that Dean had been their first captive, held hostage while they waited for Mephistopheles to appear.

John didn't struggle as he was bound to the tree. His only act of defiance was to tightly flex the muscles in his wrists in order to create a bit of slack in the bindings while they tied his hands behind him. And when the vampires wound the rope around both his body and the tree, he inhaled deeply for the same reason. And the stupid creatures didn't even notice. That was how stupid they were. Like dumb animals. Created with only one purpose in mind.

To destroy mankind.

Yet they couldn't fulfill that purpose unless they had a leader. And with their one-track minds centered on bringing that leader to life, they failed to see anything else. Or sense anything else that might get in their way. And that was where John had the advantage.

Once they had secured him to the tree, the male vampires backed off and headed back to their places at the fire. But the female crouched in front of John, grabbing the sides of his face with her clawlike fingers and turned his head so that he looked right at her.

"You're gonna watch this," she sneered, "And witness the death of your two precious children. Then, I'm going to slowly feed on your blood until you beg me to put you out of your misery. And I will. I'll send you straight down to hell to Luther. And he's down there waiting for you. With his own brand of retribution ready for what you did to him."

She smiled wickedly at John and, with her hand clamped firmly on his face, she pushed herself into a standing position, jerking his head back so that it slammed against the tree. But John didn't react to her words or her actions and, devoid of the satisfaction she craved, she turned without uttering another word and stormed over to the fire, taking her place beside Sam.

John turned his attention back to Sam who was in the process of laying Dean on top of the stone altar. John was surprised at how gently Sam was setting his brother down; it was as if he was trying to ensure that he didn't injure him further. And as soon as he laid him down, Sam took the time to make sure that Dean's head was resting in a somewhat natural and comfortable position. All of which made John wonder exactly what he was doing. Why was he being so careful? And why did he seem to care so much?

Especially if his real intent was to sacrifice him anyway?

But if that surprised John, Sam's next actions completely befuddled him; he stood up straight and placed his hand softly on Dean's cheek. He stood there briefly, staring down at his brother and letting his hand rest lightly on the side of his face. Then, as if it had never happened, he turned quickly and stared at John; his evil eyes dark and foreboding.

"Tonight, your legacy ends," he announced, "And you and your family along with it."

But once again John remained impassive. He wasn't about to give Mephistopheles the satisfaction of a response – verbal or otherwise. Even though his words had alarmed him. But not for his own well-being. For his sons. And their lives. And what their deaths would ultimately bring.

Still, he hadn't given up on putting a stop this unholy sacrament and, even though the odds were entirely against him, John worked fervently behind his back to free his hands. He scraped his fingers along the ground until he found a small rock that he could use to scrape away at the bindings. He twisted it around in his hand so that the sharpest edge protruded from his fingers. He immediately began rubbing the jagged edge of the rock against the rope, keeping it as taut as he possibly could by pulling his wrists apart as much as he could. As the threads of the rope slowly yielded to the friction caused by the rock he maintained the tension on the rope by inching his arms apart all the while keeping a close eyes on his adversaries and working as quietly and inconspicuously as possible.

Meanwhile, Sam had turned his attention back to Dean, ripping Dean's shirt right down the middle and moving it off to either side, fully exposing Dean's chest and allowing John to see just how shallow and labored his eldest son's breathing was. Even the flickering glow of the firelight couldn't disguise the pallor of Dean's skin. And the dancing shadows created by the flames only accentuated the unhealthy clamminess that raked his entire body. Sam then placed his hand firmly on Dean's chest, closed his eyes and launched into some sort of alien chant. But he was speaking too low and the words were inaudible to John's ears, which left their true purpose unclear. As well as their effect on Dean. He had yet to respond to the unholy requiem. He didn't move or awaken. And John took that to be a good sign. Because he knew that Mephistopheles wouldn't complete the assimilation ritual until Dean was awake and completely aware of his predicament.

Such was Mephistopheles hatred for the Winchesters. This was to be his revenge. It was payback for them having thwarted him for the better part of 23 years. Ever since Sam had been a baby. And before they knew anything about the supernatural. Or even believed in it. But over the years their knowledge had evolved until they had become a force to be reckoned with. And now Mephistopheles wasn't about to let any of them die without proving that, regardless of the prowess they possessed, he was still superior. And he was going to be the victor.

It was simple vanity; a trait that all demons processed. One of the seven deadly sins.

And, hopefully, a prelude to his downfall.

As John observed the ongoing scene between his sons, he noticed that the hand Sam held over Dean's heart didn't appear to be inflicting any harm to him. In fact it didn't seem to be having any effect at all on him. It was almost as if it was some kind of stall tactic. That Sam was just buying time. And waiting for something.

But what?

John glanced quickly at the vampires. They were all sitting cross-legged on the ground with their heads up and their eyes closed. They looked as if they had gone into some kind of a trance. A meditation so deep that they were totally ensconced in it and unaware of anything else around them.

Including him and his two boys.

Recognizing this as the window of opportunity he needed, John increased his efforts to free himself. He yanked on the bindings until the rope cut into his wrists and he rubbed the rock so ardently over the rope that the stone heated up and singed his fingers. But he continued on unfazed, working the stone back and forth across the rope as fast as he could in order to free his hands.

John had just managed to cut through what remained of the frayed rope when something far off in the distance caught his eye. Hew saw something moving in the trees up ahead. A hazy, indiscernible shape that seemed to be steadily making its way toward them. And when it finally got close enough John could make out the silhouette of a tall, lanky figure in the shadows. It strode purposely through the undergrowth, barely hindered by the random placement of the various trees and bushes of which the forest was composed. Watching it, John got the sense that he should recognize the humanoid figure but it wasn't until the being stepped into the clearing and was illuminated by the iridescent glow of the campfire that he was actually able to identify it.

It was Sam.


	21. Chapter 21

The newly-arrived Sam advanced into the clearing, striding steadily onward until he came up right behind the ring of meditating vampires. Stopping just shy of their immobile forms, he positioned himself self-assuredly, spreading his legs slightly apart and folding his arms neatly across his chest. He drew in a long breath and straightened his stance before staring intensely through the dancing flames of the fire at his identical twin who had watched his look-alike enigma's arrival without a hint of emotion and was now staring back at him with veiled interest.

John's efforts to free himself ceased as soon as he recognized the newcomer and even though he had succeeded in freeing his hands from their bindings, he left them juxtaposed behind his back as if they were still bound. He sat stock-still as his whirling mind tried to decipher the surreal scene in front of him. What he was seeing was impossible: indistinguishable duplications of his youngest son standing on opposite sides of the raging fire.

Both images were perfect; they were identical in all aspects of appearance and demeanor. The new Sam had walked so confidently into the clearing and his appearance had completely unhinged John. Everything about him screamed and mimicked Sam. It wasn't just his physical appearance but also the way he carried himself, the way he moved and even the way he was now standing so perfectly still.

It was all so typically Sam.

So calm, cool and collected. So characteristically laidback and composed. Not flying by the seat of his pants or rushing in with all guns blazing and creating total mayhem.

Not like Dean.

Or, John realized ruefully, himself.

But, exactly like Sam.

And that was what had unnerved him so much. Because up until this moment, John would have bet his soul on the other Sam being the real one. That the Sam he had spent the better part of the last week with was really his son. The Sam who had miraculously survived the car wreck. The person he had watched and fretted over at the hospital. The one he had guarded almost incessantly ever since. That Sam was real; he was the authentic and human Sam.

But now he was uncertain. He was completely unsure which one of these beings was Sam and which one was simply an unholy replica of him that had been given life by mentally and physically devouring Sam's identity.

It would have been so much easier if Mephistopheles had targeted Dean. Because only Dean could be Dean. With his smart mouth, hair-trigger temper, crack-shot skill and big-brother protectiveness of Sam. Nothing, no matter how versed or evil, could duplicate that. Dean would have approached this situation with a zealous passion, hell-bent on saving his brother and completely disregarding his own safety and well-being in order to stop anything more happening to Sam. And it would have been impossible for Mephistopheles to duplicate that. Especially when his own survival on earth would have depended on Dean's.

But emulating Sam was another matter altogether. For Sam was much more pensive and serene. He would always take the time needed to devise a well-constructed rescue plan. And he would wait until the time was right in order to execute it properly all the while keeping every detail to himself so as not be put anyone else at risk.

And this was where John found himself. Right in the middle of a game to which he didn't know all the rules. Or understand the strategy.

For those reasons – and the fact that he didn't seem to be in any imminent danger - John decided to hold himself in check for the moment. To wait and see what would transpire and how the two Sams would work out the situation and fix their strange predicament. Because there was one thing of which John was certain; that the two of them couldn't co-exist like this forever.

John drew his legs closer to his body and very discretely brought his hands around to the front to begin working on removing the rope that bound them. The knots weren't particularly hard to undo; the challenge was in disengaging them without being noticed. Although he doubted he'd be the main focus of attention anyway, there would be no sense in testing that theory. Still, he wanted to be freed and unencumbered should he have to spring to Sam's aid.

When he was finally able to determine which one of them was really Sam.

But for now, he'd have to be content to just sit back and observe.

For a brief moment it didn't look like much was going to happen. Both Sams continued to watch each other with a sort of calm disinterest – except for the fact that their gazes remained locked. So John used the impasse to steal a quick glance at Dean. And his condition was unchanged; his breathing was slow and labored; his skin ashen and soaked in sweat. But as much as John wanted to get up and help him, he knew it was a mute point. Right now Dean was in less danger than Sam for the sole reason that Mephistopheles needed him alive. And as long as he remained unconscious, Sam's life was in reprieve. But once Dean regained consciousness, both he and Sam would be in grave danger.

John only hoped that he'd be able to determine which Sam was which before that happened.

Then, as if on cue, the aberrant stand-off came to an abrupt halt. The newly-emerged Sam took a step forward and into the circle of vampires while the other Sam dropped his hand from where it was still hovering over Dean's chest. He let it slide to his side before he stepped around the rock and stood in front of it. (To John it looked as if he was shielding his brother's body. Or it could just have been wishful thinking on his part.) Yet neither of the identical beings ventured any closer to the other. Instead both stood stoically, waiting for only-God-or-Satan-knew-what. Ever so slowly, the second Sam extended his arms out to his sides. As they reached shoulder-level, he unclenched his fists and pointed his palms downward before continuing the ascension of his arms until they pointed straight up in the sky with both palms still facing outward, giving him an awkward and unnatural appearance.

And providing John with his first clue.

The original Sam took a step closer to the fire. And as he did, the vampires' eyes all opened simultaneously. But their eyes were clouded, giving off the guise of unseeing grayish orbs.

But were they responding to this Sam's movement or was it just a coincidence?

Suddenly, they lifted their chins in complete synchronization until their murky, sightless eyes stared up at the sky. And they remained staring up at the darkened sky while they continued their evil incantation, their legs crossed and their wrists rested on their knees. It was there that the bizarre scene froze yet again. With one Sam standing straight and tall, his chest puffed-out and his arms and legs stiff and extended, the other Sam ostensibly safeguarding his brother's comatose body and all the musing vampires gazing unseeingly upward. It could have been a scene from a badly-written horror film except for the fact that it was real. Far too real to be comfortable. And far too complicated to be understood.

At least as the situation stood.

The original Sam took a second step forward, which would have moved him about a foot closer to his fallacious twin if he hadn't only also taken a step backward at the same time, thus maintaining an equal distance between the two of them. But, John wondered…was there some rationale for him to move away from the other Sam? Was he simply afraid of him? Or was there a reason that they couldn't get any closer?

Or did it mean nothing at all?

But all John could do was watch. And wonder when something would happen that would make sense of it all. Something to give him the insight he so desperately needed.

John watched carefully as the second Sam slowly began lowering his arms, methodically bringing them down to shoulder-level before stopping and leaving them outstretched at his sides. As he did this, the vampires also began lowering their heads, continuing until their unfocused eyes were looking straight down at the ground in front of them. And through it all John scrutinized what was happening in hopes of forming an accurate analysis.

Until suddenly he understood.

The vampires were locked in a trance that's purpose was to beseech Satan for help and power. Help in assisting their leader and power that they would need in the upcoming war. And the new Sam was guiding them; he was strengthening their appeals to the devil. It was the way he was standing that gave it away. That made John realize that the newly-arrived Sam was, without a doubt, the imposter.

For his chosen stance formed a pentagram; as perfect a version of the five-pointed, star-shaped figure that a human body could make. And just as a perfectly-drawn pentagram could lock in a demon within it confines, so could human posturing. And that was exactly what Mephistopheles was doing; attempting to lock himself into Sam's body.

There was only one problem:

Sam was here. The real Sam.

And _that_, John abruptly realized, was the demon's limitation.

Which instantly made everything else clear. Everything that was he had read in that archaic book. All those enigmatic and baffling words. And especially the last passage that John had read:

…_the demon Mephistopheles must be challenged. And it shall be by forcing him to come face to face with his own limitations that will bring about his destruction…_

And now John knew exactly what it meant. Sam had to challenge Mephistopheles directly. That was the only way the demon would be defeated.

And knowing that made the rest of it fall into place.

Because Sam had the ability to defeat Mephistopheles. The doppelganger had told him: _Only Sattva shall vanquish Mephistopheles._ And, although Sam certainly wasn't beyond reproach, he was still pure enough. Because despite everything he knew and understood about Satan and the supernatural, he was still a good person. He still had enough virtue in him to believe in goodness and righteousness. He honestly believed that whatever horrendous situations he and his family found themselves in could be solved in a just and fair manner – as long as it was properly thought out first.

And that was why Sam had been protected.

By a pair of Rakshasas who had emulated both John and Dean. They had protected Sam against Mephistopheles when Satan's henchmen had infiltrated his inner circle. And they had remained with him, safeguarding him as it were, until he was successfully reunited with his family. The Rakshasas had served as the paradoxal equivalent of Judas Iscariot in order to thwart Satan. And what better beings to do just that? For Hindu demons wouldn't relish serving under a Christian anti-god – namely Satan – for the remainder of eternity. So they had found a way to hinder him without declaring outright war. It hadn't been a case of good vs. evil; it was simply evil forces pitted against one another.

But now the future was all up to Sam.

Because John couldn't help him. For the first time in his youngest son's life, John was going to have to relinquish control to him – and hope that he knew what to do. There was no other way around it. And watching his youngest son now, John got the sense that he somehow knew instinctively what had to be done. No one had explained it to him and John was sure he had never done any research on how to defeat Mephistopheles. But everything in Sam's calm and quiet demeanor emitted an aura of confidence and knowledge.

Sam took another decisive step toward his adversary and, in doing so, forced his demonic twin to take another step backward so that he was dangerously close to exiting the satanic circle of vampires. But with lightening-quick speed, the demon-Sam countered Sam's movements by flinging his arms toward the fire. He cupped his hands as they swung forward and, after scooping up an imaginary fireball he hoisted his arms straight up to the sky. As if responding to the demon's gestures, the flames of the bonfire rose higher, instantly bursting into an intense inferno that lit up the entire area.

Sam remained undaunted by this latest demonstration of satanic power for it was obvious to him that Mephistopheles was simply on the defensive; he was trying to fend off the inevitable with a histrionic display of trickery. But his melodramatics couldn't protect him from reality, no matter how hard he tried.

From the corner of his eye John saw something move near the stone altar and he glanced over in time to see the female vampire lean over Dean, her fangs protruding from her open mouth. John tensed and prepared to get up but as he shifted his weight onto his haunches, he noticed Dean's eyes flicker open and just before the vampire sunk her teeth into the side of his neck, he rolled off the stony shrine. Dean's unexpected revival immediately brought the vampires out of their trance. Their eyes no longer had a murky shine when they lifted their heads and they all stared in unison toward Dean and the female vampire. Yet they didn't move from their positions; they simply remained transfixed on the altar as if awaiting instructions.

But Dean's unexpected resurgence didn't faze the female vampire and she lunged after her prey, leaping effortlessly over the altar and landing directly in front of him, hemming him in between her body and the slab of rock he had just slipped off. Without hesitating, she bent down, her fangs drawn, and once again targeted Dean's exposed jugular. But Dean somehow managed to push himself downwards and away from her deadly incisors just in the nick of time.

Through the thunderous roar of the bonfire John could just barely hear his eldest son murmur, "Not tonight, Sweetheart. I told ya before, you're not the girl I plan to spend eternity with."

As the female vampire dropped into the empty space that Dean had vacated, John vaulted on top of her back. He straddled her body and clasped his big hand under her chin in order to immobilize her deadly jaws. He pulled her head back until it slammed into his groin and, with his other hand, he slashed his pocketknife across her throat. Unfortunately the knife was neither big nor sharp enough to completely sever her throat, but it did manage to cut a deep enough gash that the ensuing rush of blood stopped her from calling out for help.

John thrust the female vampire away from him and, with her hands now clutching at her wounded neck, she fell helplessly to the ground, allowing John to step over her with little effort. He rushed over to where Dean was kneeling on the ground, trying desperately to catch his breath and gather some much-needed energy. John grabbed his eldest son under his arms and all but dragged him behind the same tree to which they had both previously been held captive.

Settling Dean down against the wide tree trunk, John seized his shoulders and asked quietly. "You okay?"

Dean nodded brusquely before his attention was drawn toward the fire as another explosion of rushing flames flashed brightly, illuminating the tiny clearing and bringing both Sams clearly into focus. Dean blinked and shook his head slightly, uncertain of what he was actually seeing. He glanced toward his father, hoping to receive some sort of verification for what he saw but John's attention had also been drawn toward the fire.

The two Sams were practically on top of each other and the demon-Sam was flickering in and out of sight like a bad picture on an old television set. John knew it was a side-effect of Sam being too close, thus effecting Mephistopheles' hold on his physical body. But Mephistopheles wasn't going down without a fight and each time his image reappeared, he was holding what looked like balls of fire that he flung viciously at his earthly counterpart. As John watched his youngest son step aside to avoid each fiery sphere, he realized that the flaming projectiles were actually glowing orbs of hellfire which meant that Mephistopheles was receiving help; he was being personally aided by Satan.

Making Sam's task to destroy him even more difficult.

And perhaps even unattainable.

"Dad…the vampires," Dean whispered tersely, drawing his father's attention away from Mephistopheles and his youngest son.

John glanced at the vampires only to notice that the majority of the vampires had arisen from their places at the fire and were now walking almost zombie-like toward them. The only vampires who remained engaged in their unholy séance were the ones who were located directly behind Mephistopheles, causing John to surmise that their mental powers were required to help fend off Sam's advancement. But the rest of them were dispensable – at least as far as helping Mephistopheles was concerned - although they could be instrumental in apprehending the now-missing component required for the completion of their master's heinous ritual:

Dean.

For it was his death that was going to cement the union. And end Sam's life. Just as long as Mephistopheles could ward Sam off long enough for Dean to be recaptured and eliminated in full view of both of them. That's all it would take for the demon to win.

But John wasn't about to just sit back and let that happen; he seized Dean by his shirt collar, half-lifting and half-dragging him away from the clearing and into the surrounding darkness of the shrouded woods. Dean scrambled to get to his feet as he tried to keep up with his father but it wasn't until John yanked him roughly behind a cluster of tangled bushes that Dean was able to get his footing.

Breathing heavily and attempting to stand upright, Dean growled angrily, "What the hell are you…"

But he was stopped mid-question as John, who had dropped to one knee, pushed him back down toward the ground. "Shh…We have to keep you away from them."

"Okay. I get that Dad," Dean snapped, "But we can't leave Sammy in there alone."

"Forget Sam for now," ordered John. "It's you we have to worry about."

"Me? Why me? It's Sammy who's in there with Mephistopheles."

"I know that. But they need you too."

"Yeah, I already figured that out, Dad. It's classic Cain and Abel. And I'm the sacrifice that's going to appease Satan. But Mephistopheles'll just kill Sammy if we leave him in there alone with him."

"No, Dean, he won't. Mephistopheles can't come face-to-face with Sam. It's his only weakness now that he's attained a viable physical body and it's the only way to get rid of him. But those vampires are going to try their best to complete the sacrifice before Sammy's presence destroys him. Because all that's needed is for your brother to witness your death in order to finalize the merger for Mephistopheles and begin their war."

"Well, I guess we got us some vampires to elude then," stated Dean as he checked on the vampires' whereabouts. "Unless you happen to have some blades hidden somewhere we can use to behead these sonsabitches. 'Cause that'd be the best rescue devices you ever brought along."

But the vampires were rapidly encroaching on their location and, as they neared, they were slowly spreading out, getting ready to encircle their prey's hiding place and cut off their escape. And as much as John had told Dean that Sam would be okay on his own, he didn't really buy it totally himself and he had absolutely no intention of leaving his youngest son alone with Mephistopheles. So, instead of venturing too far from the clearing, he planned on playing a very shrewd game of cat and mouse with the vampires. Making sure that Dean was watching him, John crooked his neck to the left before rushing off, keeping a parallel distance between himself and the surreal scene at the bonfire.

Dean closely followed his father's footsteps, thankful that he had chosen to move sideways and not further away from the clearing; he was in no hurry to leave Sam alone either. Just as he caught up with his father, John sprinted ahead yet again towards a tangled mass of broken branches that had accumulated on the forest floor from a downed tree. As he reached the disorderly array of fallen vegetation, John fell to his hands and knees and quickly clamored to the far side with Dean right at his heels. Reaching the end of the branches, both John and Dean peered around them to see what was currently transpiring between Sam and his nemesis.

Mephistopheles was still managing to keep Sam at bay with the fiery balls of hellfire that he was now throwing in rapid succession. But Sam was holding his ground and hadn't retreated at all from the demon's onslaught. And Sam's continued presence was having a slow yet disastrous effect on Mephistopheles; his physical image was growing more blurry with each passing moment and was now flashing in and out of sight much more rapidly than before. If Sam could somehow manage to get closer, he would destroy Mephistopheles within minutes. But the hellfire was keeping Sam from advancing any further and, for the moment, he had to be content at maintaining his position.

The gaggle of vampires was once again moving in on the two Winchester men who wasted little time in relocating to another spot to evade them. They dashed behind a large oak tree that was growing on the outskirts of the clearing and, although it distanced them from their zombie-like pursuers, it brought them dangerously close to the other vampires that had remained behind to aid Mephistopheles. And also to another adversary they had momentarily forgotten about.

Kate.

She had recovered from her previous altercation with John and was back on her feet. But her neck wound hadn't healed and blood was dripping out of it onto the ground. It didn't take her long to pick up the Winchester's scent and she quickly honed in on their location. With the speed and agility of a famished panther she was soon on top of them, blocking their exitway from her approaching cohorts. Before he was even aware of what she was doing, Kate grabbed Dean by his neck, slowly lifting him off the ground and bringing him in closer toward her. But John was upon her almost instantly and he grasped both sides of her head with his big hands, snapping it sharply and breaking her neck. The injury, although not deadly, caused her to lose her grip on Dean and he tumbled onto the ground. The new injury to her neck increased the flow of blood and John cupped his hand over the wound to gather some of the spurting blood which he then lathered over his own face and body. Holding her tightly by the hair, John collected another handful of blood before pushing her away in favor of grabbing his eldest son by the collar and smearing the sticky liquid on him in the same manner.

The blood was to confuse the vampires; they were searching by scent. And now the Winchesters' scent was masked by the stench of vampire blood. If nothing else it would buy them some time. But they needed more than John's little trick would afford them. So John took his pocketknife and sliced a deep gash down the length of his forearm. As the blood seethed forth, John marched over to where Kate was now kneeling against the tree. He swiped his arm down the side of her face and across her upper body, mixing his blood with hers. Except now his was on top and would hiopefully draw the attention of the vampires. And buy him a little more time.

Dean had turned in time to see an orb of hellfire slam heavily into his brother's chest causing Sam to take a couple of steps backward as he fought to rid himself of the burning object. His involuntary retreat gave Mephistopheles his first advantage since he had arrived and his image suddenly grew a bit brighter and clearer. Encouraged by his rejuvenation the demon attempted to use his evil powers to fling Sam further away. But before he was able to flick his wrist and hurl Sam farther afield, Dean suddenly appeared behind his brother and pushed him forward. Still focused on removing the burning sphere of hellfire, Sam stumbled forward and fell unceremoniously to his knees. But Dean was right behind him and dragged him back onto his feet. As Sam stood upright, Dean spun him around to face him and, using both hands, he ripped his younger brother's shirt right down the front and tore it from his body, taking the glowing ball of fire with it.

Dean's appearance had revitalized Mephistopheles; here at last were the final two ingredients needed to fulfill his destiny. And although Sam's actual presence put a slight damper on things, Dean's did not. In fact, Mephistopheles was convinced of his victory now. All he had to do was kill Dean. And make sure Sam witnessed it. Dropping the last of the hellfire orbs to the ground beside him, the demon pulled himself up to his full height before throwing his arms out to his sides and spreading his legs to shoulder-width, once again forming a pentagram with his body. His demonic stance awoke the remaining vampires behind him and they rose and headed over toward Dean and Sam.

But Dean's scent was mixed with that of Kate's and in the ever-changing light cast by the roaring bonfire, his exact location was difficult to pinpoint. Especially as he wasn't content to just stand still and wait. Nor was he going to let Sam stay in one place. He spun Sam around again and, with his hands flat to his brother's back, slowly propelled him forward toward Mephistopheles. But the demon didn't seem to be nearly as affected by Sam's advancement as he had been before and he stood his ground, not wavering from his position or altering his stance.

And Dean knew why.

The pentagram was locking him into Sam's body.

So Dean did the only thing he could think of. He rushed the demon and slammed headfirst into his torso, like a linebacker on a football team. The force of the impact was enough to cause Mephistopheles to stagger backward while he tried to regain his balance. The pentagram was broken but now Dean lay defenseless at the demon's feet. It was exactly the break Mephistopheles needed and he reached down and seized Dean by the shirt. Mephistopheles yanked him upright and staring him directly in the eye, placed his demonic hand directly over Dean's heart and began twisting it brutally until it once again began to penetrate Dean's skin.

And the sound of Dean's death throes filled the otherwise silent night air.


	22. Chapter 22

"_NO!_" screamed Sam at the top of his lungs, "You _can't_ have him!"

He took a hurried step forward, marginally closing the gap that had existed between him and Mephistopheles. But it was as if the distance between them was no longer relevant as his advancement had no outward effect on the demon.

But, the effect it had on Sam was an entirely different matter.

Because as he moved in closer he could see first-hand the damage that Mephistopheles was actually inflicting on his brother and the horrific sight caused him to stop dead in his tracks. He faltered backward a few uneven paces all the while struggling to come to grips with what he was seeing. Mephistopheles' hand was buried deep inside Dean's chest and there was an overabundance of blood surrounding the gorged cavity. Blood had saturated the fabric of his brother's shirt, turning the entire front of the garment a sickly shade of red and there was so much of it that the overflow was dripping onto the ground where it was congealing into a thick crimson pool around Dean's feet. And, as if that wasn't enough, Mephistopheles was twisting his arm around brutally inside Dean's torso, maneuvering around his ribcage in search of his heart.

The surreal spectacle instantly made Sam feel sick and although he was repulsed by it, he found himself unable to look away. Until suddenly Mephistopheles' movements ceased. And Sam saw the muscles in the demon's forearm constrict tightly. He had found what he had been looking for.

Which meant that Dean only had seconds to live. Because as soon as Mephistopheles withdrew his hand, Dean would die.

Sam would be next.

Mephistopheles would win.

And the war-to-end-all-wars would begin.

Not bothering to complete his grisly task, Mephistopheles turned and glared wickedly at Sam. The glowing embers of the raging bonfire reflected brilliantly in his evil yellow eyes, mimicking the eternal fires of Hell. Mephistopheles stood there calmly, grinning maniacally at Sam. For victory was within his reach. He had attained his earthly body, he had his sacrifice and Sam was right there to witness it all in person. Even the demon's army of antichrists was present, just waiting for their leader to assume control. It was all coming together perfectly. The unification was mere seconds away from being completed. Mephistopheles would emerge triumphant. Evil would prevail. There was no stopping it now. And Mephistopheles laughed hideously as he stood basking in his own glorification.

But he gloated for a moment too long.

Just long enough for John to sneak up behind him.

John had stayed hidden in the shadows, effectively evading the horde of vampires who had been comically pursuing him as they tried in vain to distinguish their quarry's scent from that of Kate. But the intermingling of the two scents had confused the trance-induced vampires and they shuffled around Kate's stricken form, unable to properly differentiate between their fallen comrade and the overlying stench of John's blood which he had splayed overtop of her. Their continued state of confusion was what had provided John with the opportunity he needed to circumvent the fire undetected where he had lain in wait for rest of the vampires to disperse from behind Mephistopheles.

And as soon as they had moved away, John had walked right up behind Mephistopheles without any interference at all. He enveloped the demon in a strong bear-hug, reaching around the demon and grabbing hold of both his arms. Holding Mephistopheles securely, John took another step forward to wedge the gap that had existed between their bodies while he made sure that the demon didn't remove his hands from Dean's chest.

John's goal was simple. To immobilize the demon. And stop him from extinguishing the lives of both his sons. And in order to accomplish that, he had to make sure that Mephistopheles didn't get the chance to extract his hand from Dean's body. So, as a little bit of extra insurance, he gripped the demon's forearm harder and shoved it just a little deeper into Dean's chest. His brazen act caused Dean to emit a painful, heart-wrenching groan and John found himself having to fight extremely hard to keep his parental instincts in check while he continued to hold Mephistopheles' hand firmly in place. But he remained uncertain if he would actually be able to ignore Dean's distress long enough for Sam to be able to step in and turn the tide of this battle.

Even though the battle lines had already begun to fray.

Because in the past few minutes Mephistopheles had lost all his advantages. The vampires he had retained to aid him in keeping his earthly body had, by his own command, relinquished their posts, thus severing the vital link to Satan. And with John trapping him in unshakable bear-hug, Mephistopheles had no way to physically lock himself inside his stolen adaptation of the youngest Winchester's body. Nor was he able to remove Dean's heart and complete the sacrifice. But that didn't mean he was simply going to give up.

Not by a long shot.

Because he had another method to ensure victory. A way that neither John nor Sam could see. One that they couldn't stop. No matter how hard they tried.

Mephistopheles squeezed Dean's heart as tightly as he could, giving the belabored organ nowhere to expand. With its ability to continue pumping cut off, the heart couldn't complete its life-giving function. The color drained instantly from Dean's already pale face and he let out another low moan. His head fell helplessly onto his shoulders and, by all appearances, he looked dead. The only reason he remained in an upright position was because Mephistopheles' hand was still impaled deeply inside his chest.

Observing Dean's horrifying reaction to the demon's latest ploy, John instinctively sensed what he had been up to and he yelled out to his youngest son.

"_SAMMY!_"

The urgency in his father's voice brought Sam out of his self-imposed stupor. He shook his head and blinked, bringing both his mind and his vision back into focus. And the scene in front of him was just as awful as it had been a few moments ago. Only this time it looked as if Dean was really dead. But Sam knew he couldn't be. Because he hadn't witnessed it for himself. But that would all change in a matter of moments. Both of them were running out of time.

So without any more hesitation, Sam dashed right up to Mephistopheles. He placed one hand on top of the demon's arm, just inches from where it disappeared into Dean's chest. And as he touched the forged flesh that composed Mephistopheles' arm, a cloudy vapor emerged from between his fingers. The vapor grew steadily thicker until it became impossible to see through. The smoky mist continued to permeate the air, amassing in size and intensity until it encompassed the entire area between the demon and Dean. And although he could no longer see for himself what effect his grip was having on Mephistopheles, Sam could feel the tissue under his hand begin to disintegrate. It felt amazingly like he was squeezing a handful of wet sand and he clamped down on Mephistopheles' arm even harder.

A loud hiss escaped the demon's mouth and he once again turned to glare at Sam. His eyes flashed an iridescent yellow and red as if there was only hellfire alive behind them. Sam could feel his body weaken and his mind begin to sway, evidence that Mephistopheles was only moments away from winning, and he was once more afraid that he was going to pass out. But he was determined not to and he stared back fiercely at the demon, the unspoken challenge visible in his eyes.

And it _had _turned into a battle of wills. John's will to save his sons. To avenge his wife's death. Sam's will to save his brother. And himself. To finish off the demon that had destroyed the family he had never known.

All of that against Mephistopheles evil will to win.

But Mephistopheles couldn't fight the one thing he was never intended to deal with. He couldn't counteract Sam's physical presence. He had used Sam's psychic abilities to fabricate an earthly body. He had tied himself into Sam's mind, turning the youngest Winchester into a medium for his own use. But Sam had somehow managed to betray him. He had found a way to turn off that part of his brain over which Mephistopheles had gained control. The demon had known it had been a gamble from the start. That everything that had made Sam the perfect host had also made him a huge risk. Because he understood enough about what was happening to him to try to stop it. But Sam hadn't really ever been atoned to his psychic abilities. So how had he managed to outsmart the demon?

But none of that mattered any more. Because at that instant, Sam's hand fell through the vacated space where Mephistopheles arm had once been. Released from his death-grip, Dean immediately fell backwards and careened onto the ground. Mephistopheles image grew opaque and John lost his grip on the demon as his physical body slowly began to fade from sight. Both Sam and John staggered forward a few inches, bumping shoulders before they were both able to regain their balance.

John hastily sidestepped his youngest son, diving down toward Dean in order to check his condition - as well as to make sure he got out of Sam's way. Because he knew there was nothing more he could to in this fight against Mephistopheles. It was all up to Sam now.

And Sam wasted no time in once again seizing the flickering image of his nemesis; he wasn't going to be content with simply allowing Mephistopheles to fade away. He wanted to destroy the demon. To make sure that he wouldn't be able to do this again. Not to him. And not to anyone else in the future either.

He dug his fingers harshly into the demon's shoulders and, after spinning him around to face him, was only slightly taken aback by the sight of his own eyes staring back at him. He pushed the absurdity of the situation out of his mind so that he could deal with the here and now. Sam lifted one hand off his evil twin's shoulder and shoved it deeply into his chest. Vapor instantly arose from all around the wound, quickly shrouding the air in a thick, misty fog. But Sam remained undeterred. He rooted around in Mephistopheles' rapidly collapsing innards, frantically searching for the demon's replicated heart, because, in order to have any chance of eliminating him forever, the heart had to be obliterated first. It was the life-giving source for all living things and Sam knew that it wouldn't be any different in this absurd situation. Whether good or evil, a living, breathing being needed a heart. Without it, the creature would die.

And that's exactly what Sam had in mind as he wrenched the barely pulsating heart from the demon's body. And as soon as he had it in his hand, the organ began to rapidly decompose, breaking apart like a sandcastle. Sam stared down at the repulsive organ until the very last remnants of it slipped like water through his fingers. Only then did he turn back to deal with Mephistopheles.

And there was hardly anything left. The demon was disappearing right before Sam's eyes. He wasn't so much disintegrating as he was melting. Like a huge ball of wax. Turning in on himself until there was nothing left but a slimy mound of sludge. And that too dissipated, leaving only the smoldering ground underneath where Mephistopheles had previously lay.

It took Sam a moment to realize that the demon his family had hunted for his whole life was, in fact, gone. That he had killed him and he stood looking at the ground in front of him, half expecting the demon to once again rear his ugly head in some form or another.

But nothing happened. Mephistopheles didn't return. Even the smoky vapor on the ground eventually frittered away, scattered by the breeze that was blowing through the small clearing.

Only then did Sam turn to look at his father. And John was still on the ground beside Dean who was lying prone and comatose on the blood-soaked ground. Dean didn't move Not one inch. And in the stillness that was now surrounding them, it became blatantly obvious just how much trauma Dean had endured. His shirt was caked in blood and a gaping hole remained in his chest where Mephistopheles had impaled him.

And John was squatting beside him on the ground, desperately trying to keep his oldest son alive. He had even gone so far as to insert his hand into Dean's torso so that he could massage his son's beleaguered heart. He was trying to keep it beating. Trying frantically to keep Dean alive.

John and Sam exchanged worried glances. It was all they could do at the moment. Nothing supernatural was going to heal Dean. Still, as long as they could keep his heart beating, he wasn't in imminent danger. Mephistopheles was dead. Dean wasn't going to end up as the demon's sacrifice. And John and Sam could focus their energies on saving him.

There was only one problem.

They were surrounded by vampires.


	23. Chapter 23

And if John thought things had been bad a moment ago, they had just gotten worse

Much worse.

For, although Sam had succeeded in killing Mephistopheles, his death had roused the vampires from their trance-induced stupor. And now they were pissed. Because, for the second time in only a few months, the Winchesters had been responsible for the demise of their leader. First they had killed Luther; now they had slayed Mephistopheles.

And for that, they would pay.

Dearly.

With newfound contempt in their eyes, the vampires moved quickly to contain the Winchesters and in no time at all they had them completely surrounded, blocking off every possible avenue of escape. Neither John nor Sam had had a chance to react to this new threat. In fact John hadn't moved; his main goal remained keeping Dean alive. And Sam had only been able to take a few steps closer to his family in a vain attempt to shield his father and brother with his body. But they both knew that it was hopeless. They couldn't run. And they didn't have any weapons to even fend off the vampires, let alone to kill them.

What they really needed was a miracle.

But miracles didn't happen. Not in real life anyway. And even though the situation they were in lent itself more to being a scene in some B-Grade horror movie, this was indeed real life. And the reality seemed to be that they were all going to end up as cannon fodder for their satanic foes.

But then something completely unexpected happened.

The telltale roar of a shotgun blast suddenly filled the hushed night air, followed immediately by the whir of a speeding bullet whizzing past before culminating in a dull thud as it pierced the flesh of its target. Falling back on his years of military training, John had expertly followed the sound of the bullet, watching in amazement as it penetrated Kate's forehead and a thick black mark spread rapidly across her forehead. And although it hadn't exactly been a beheading, it had accomplished the same goal. Because Kate had crumpled instantly to the ground.

And even though John didn't know how it had happened, he knew why.

The bullet had come from the Colt.

And the vampires were once again thrown into a state of confusion. The startling discharge of the firearm coupled with the death of their latest emerging leader had propelled them yet again into turmoil and, for a moment, they seemed to forget all about the Winchesters. Some of them even took a few steps backwards in their addled state, thus creating a slight gap in the circle in which they had, only moments before, succeeded in enclosing their prey.

John wasted no time taking advantage of the chaos; he realized that this may be his only chance of escape. He quickly scooped Dean up in his arms, pressing his son's limp body tightly to his chest before he launched himself through the break in the swarm of baffled vampires. He hit the ground just outside the circle and rolled, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the vampires, all-the-while remaining mindful of Dean's torture-plagued body that he held securely against his torso.

Until he hit something that stopped him dead in his tracks.

And a highly irritated yet amazingly familiar voice boomed out from directly above him.

"Jeezus, John. Why don't ya watch where the hell you're goin', ya idjit."

Bobby.

John had never been so glad to hear his old friend's voice. But before he had the opportunity to acknowledge his friend, two strong hands seized his shirt collar and yanked him backwards. John clutched Dean's inert body tightly to his chest as he dug his heels into the ground in order to help Bobby maneuver him further away from the vampires. After being moved back about ten feet, John's back slammed viciously against a tree trunk, bringing him to an abrupt halt and causing Dean to pitch forward out of his grip. Unable to retain his grasp on his son's lifeless body, John was helpless to stop Dean from rolling down his outstretched legs and landing on the ground at his feet. John hastily inserted his hand back into Dean's chest so that he could get back to the task of massaging his beleaguered heart. But as he gently wrapped his hand around his eldest son's heart he realized that it was now beating steadily – albeit slowly - on its own.

The jolt against the tree must have been all that was needed to kick-start Dean's heart.

Encouraged by this latest development, John took the opportunity to steal a quick glance up at Bobby and he asked quizzically "How did you find…"

But his question was cut short as he watched Bobby briefly touch his finger to his lips before pointing back in the direction of the vampires. John immediately turned to look. And he was instantly devastated by what he saw. Sam was completely surrounded by the vampires; in fact, they were merely inches away from him and Sam was trying to fend them off by moving around in slow circles with his arms extended out to his sides. But there were simply too many of them. He couldn't ward them off by himself. And he had no means of escape.

And as John and Bobby watched in horror, the vampires simultaneously opened their mouths to reveal the descent of their fangs.

Knowing he had to act fast, John sprang to his feet. But before he could move any more than a few inches, Bobby grasped him by the shoulders. "John, don't be stupid," he cautioned quietly. "That's nothin' short of suicide."

"I can't just leave him in there alone," retorted John. "They'll kill him."

Instead of answering Bobby slapped a fully-loaded revolver heavily against John's chest and stated matter-of-factly, "Bullets are dipped in dead man's blood."

John nodded brusquely as he seized the gun' handle before quickly spinning it around and taking aim at the ravenous horde of vampires. Without hesitating, John discharged the first round squarely into the chest of a completely unsuspecting vampire. That first bullet had barely left the chamber when John fired again; this time the bullet struck the forehead of the vampire that was just about to sink its teeth into Sammy's neck. Continuing with his assault, John systematically shot the vampires. He was only vaguely aware of the gun that was firing beside him as Bobby, equally skillfully, picked off the vampires on the opposite side of the youngest Winchester.

Caught unaware by the intense onslaught, the number of active vampires dwindled rapidly as victim after victim fell to a lifeless heap on the ground. But try as they might, there were simply too many vampires for John and Bobby to be able to neutralize before their foes realized what was happening. Both men continued firing so fast and so accurately that soon only two vampires remained awake. And the surviving duo couldn't have been standing in worse places.

Both of them were standing directly behind Sam. One on his left and the other on his right. And they were holding Sam securely in front of them. One vampire held him firmly around the neck with one hand while he yanked on Sam's hair with the other, forcing his head so far back that it his neck looked like it was in danger of breaking. The other vampire had one arm raised above their captive's head, a sharp knife pressed against the skin of his own forearm, ready to inflict a cut that would spill blood directly into Sam's mouth as he struggled hopelessly against the hold he was in.

And if that was allowed to happen, it would turn Sam. And that would be the only thing worse than those vampires feeding on him.

John and Bobby froze. Their guns hovered in the air at shoulder-level. Their fingers rested precariously on the triggers. But neither man moved. Not one iota. And neither one dared to fire their weapon.

That is, until John took a chance.

He pressed back on the trigger at the precise moment he pivoted the barrel of the gun upward ever so slightly. It was just enough to have the desired outcome; the bullet struck the vampire's upraised arm at the elbow, jolting it backwards violently and deflecting it out of harms way. But the knife had cut a splice through the vampire's arm as it was propelled backwards and created the same bloody wound that was needed for them to accomplish their gruesome task.

But like part of a highly trained team, Bobby had had an innate knowledge of what was going on in John's mind. And as soon as he sensed John's movements beside him, Bobby adjusted his aim and fired a bullet into the neck of the vampire that was holding Sam. The shot felled the vampire instantly and freed Sam in the process. Sam stumbled forward and the sole remaining vampire leapt on him from behind and forced him facedown onto the ground. The vampire quickly straddled his body and spun him around so that Sam was now facing him. He grappled with Sam's mouth, desperately trying to force his lips apart in order to slip in some of his own bloods.

And once again neither John nor Bobby fired.

They were both out of ammunition.

John tossed his gun aside and charged the vampire, landing on him with the full force of his weight and knocking him off his youngest son. But he was no match for the supernatural creature and he was quickly overpowered. The vampire sat heavily on John's chest and pinned his arms to the ground. His mouth opened, revealing his deadly fangs and he lowered his upper body, intent on feeding on John's blood.

Just then another shot rang out. Blood splayed all over John's face and upper torso just before the vampire collapsed on top of him.

When John tackled the vampire he had given Bobby enough time to reload his weapon and shoot the vampire without being noticed. And now they had neutralized all of the vampires. At least for the moment. But it wouldn't last much longer; the effects of the dead man's blood would begin to wear off soon. And when they woke up the vampires would be even more pissed off.

They certainly weren't going to stick around for that.

John pushed the vampire off him and scrambled to his feet. He dashed over to where Dean lay motionless on the ground. After quickly checking his pulse, John lifted him into his arms and stood up just as Bobby and Sam reached him. Together the three men walked briskly through the darkened woods, heading back towards the highway. John had only gone a couple of hundred feet before he began to struggle under carrying the full weight of Dean's body but he couldn't afford to slow down. Nor did he want to risk injuring Dean further by trying to adjust him in his arms. So instead he pushed on, ignoring the pain in his body as he concentrated on taking one step at a time.

But he couldn't help feeling relieved as the dense vegetation began to thin out, indicating that they were approaching the edge of the woods. And if he had retraced his steps as well as he remembered, his truck should be parked on the shoulder of the highway just up ahead. John quickened his pace, wanting only to get to his truck before he dropped Dean. John was taken slightly aback when he saw Bobby's truck parked right behind his own even though he should have surmised it would be there. But he hadn't really thought about it until now. Bobby had undoubtedly been following them. Probably had been for days; otherwise he never would have been able to find them in those woods. And he'd known enough to bring the proper ammunition with him.

As John reached the truck, Sam moved in ahead of him to open the passenger door. Straining under Dean's weight, John simply grunted his thanks to his youngest son as he slid Dean gently onto the seat. After he had positioned Dean safe;y in the truck, he took a deep breath and turned to look at Sam.

"You okay," he asked.

"Yeah, I'm alright," replied Sam, still a little out of breath as he climbed into the truck.

Coming up beside them, Bobby piped up, "John, those vampires have been watching you for days now. They know where you're stayin' and they're gonna head right to your motel as soon as they wake up. It'd be safer if we all go back to my motel instead."

John nodded in acknowledgement and then climbed into the driver's seat. He waited until Bobby pulled his truck onto the highway before driving out behind him. He looked over at Dean lying immobile on the seat beside him. His oldest son's skin was extremely pale and he was just barely breathing. John prayed that the motel wasn't too far away.

Otherwise Dean might not make it.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John pulled the last suture tight, seemingly oblivious to the blood that completely covered his fingers. The hole in Dean's chest had been a bugger to close and he was thankful that Dean had remained unconscious during the entire procedure; otherwise the pain would have been unbearable. The skin around the wound had had to be carefully stretched and pulled in order to close the wound and there had been numerous times where it had been in danger of tearing. Bobby had had to continually massage the fragile tissue to provide more elasticity to the seared skin.

But it was done now. And John sat on the bed beside his oldest child. Maybe he was imaging it but Dean already looked a little better. The color was beginning to return to his skin and his breathing was longer and deeper. John gently placed his hand overtop of his son's chest; he was still afraid that his heart might stop beating. But he could feel a faint thumping under his palm. Dean's beleaguered heart was beating rhythmically and seemed to be slowly getting stronger.

And that was a good thing.

Because they couldn't afford to stay here much longer.

By now the vampires would have discovered that they weren't at their motel. And they would have begun looking for them. There weren't that many motels in the area; it wouldn't be long before they came upon this one. Then there'd be no escape. It would be best if they left before the vampires arrived.

Except, Dean wouldn't be ready to travel for days. Moving him would probably put his life in jeopardy. And he'd been in enough danger a few hours ago; John certainly wasn't going to try his luck again. It had never been that good.

He turned to Bobby and asked the question he'd tried once before that evening. "How'd you manage to find us?"

"You and I were supposed to meet in Jefferson. Remember?"

John had forgotten all about that. Bobby had phoned him and told him that the boys were headed to Jefferson to confront the demon. The two of them were supposed to meet up and intercept them. Only it hadn't happened that way. John had come upon the accident scene and forgotten all about Bobby and their intended meeting.

"You came upon the accident too," asked John, more of a statement of fact than a question.

"Yeah," admitted Bobby. "I got there just as in time to see both your truck and the ambulance leavin'. Luckily I was drivin' my tow-truck that night. I just drove right up to the car and told the cops I was there to tow it. Took it back to my yard and then went back to Jefferson. Been shadowing you ever since."

"What about the Colt. Where'd you get it?"

"Found it in the trunk of the Impala."

"Are there any bullets left?"

"Nope. Used the last one tonight when I killed that female vampire."

"Damn," John cursed quietly. "We really coulda used that gun to kill a few more of those suckers."

Bobby looked at his old friend for a minute before he ventured hesitantly, "Yer not plannin' on havin' a showdown with them, are you?"

John glanced over at Dean before answering, "Dean's in no shape to travel and, after what we did to them tonight, they're never gonna stop hunting us."

Bobby took a deep breath. Then he looked over at Sam. But Sam's expression was impassive; his thoughts unreadable. Bobby knew he couldn't count on his help to dissuade his father from this foolishness.

So Bobby looked back at John and reluctantly asked, "Okay, so what's yer plan?"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

They waited in the darkness. Silent and still. Waited for the vampires to come to them. They had left the motel twenty miles behind. It was a gamble leaving Dean unconscious and alone in the room but they didn't have much choice. The distance alone should be enough to keep him safe because it would never occur to the vampires that they would abandon him. That was the main reason they had decided to mount their attack here.

They had scoped out this motel. And it was perfect. Because it had seven crude cottages scattered on the half-cleared property behind it. It was the ideal location. One the vampires wouldn't question. It made sense that they would be holed up here; it was off the main highway and the cabins weren't visible from the road. The road sign had fallen into a state of disrepair and the lettering announcing the cottages existence had long since faded and peeled away, making it was impossible to make out what it had originally read.

Under normal circumstance it was the perfect place for hunters like them to stay. The vampires wouldn't be suspicious. And to add to its credibility, John, Bobby and Sam had inundated the entire area with their scents, taking extra care around the door of every cabin. It was similar to animals marking their territory except this was intended to cause uncertainty. The vampires would be confused about which cabin they were staying in and in order to search all of them simultaneously, they would separate into smaller, more manageable groups.

First they would go up to the front doors. But every door was padlocked and the shades on the front windows drawn tight. But the three humans had turned lights on in the back room of every cottage and left the shades and back window open slightly. The vampires would peer into the cottages looking for any sign of them and that's when they would attack.

With thirteen vampires and seven cottages, the odds had pretty much been evened out. And Bobby and the Winchesters would have the element of surprise.

That, and really big, sharp swords. Along with the skill to wield them. If they played their cards right, each attack would be swift and silent, leaving them the opportunity to confront their next set of victims unnoticed.

The cottages were situated in an almost perfect "V-shape". There were three cottages on each side with the final one at the back. The men had thought out their best strategy and taken up positions behind the cottages where they would have the biggest advantage. Sam was hidden in the bushes behind the second cottage on the east side of the field. John was hiding behind the cottage right next to him. Bobby, on the other hand, was somewhere behind the first cottage on the opposite side of the field.

Each man would attack the vampires as they arrived at their respective cabin. Once those vampires had been eliminated, Sam would move back toward the motel and attack the vampires at the first cottage. John would turn the other way and kill the vampires at the fourth and furthest cottage from the motel while Bobby headed to the second cottage on his side of the motel. Once they had eliminated all those vampires, John and Bobby would meet at the third cottage on the west side and take on their remaining foes. For his part, Sam would run back to the parking lot and execute any vampire that might have remained on alert at the front of the motel.

John shifted on his haunches to ensure that he didn't cramp up. He needed to remain limber so that he could move swiftly when the time came. He scanned the woods to his left looking for Sam and could just barely make out his son's muscular form in the dense vegetation. Sam was focused on the cottage ahead of him, listening and waiting for any sign that the vampires were approaching.

They didn't have to wait long. Within moments the rumbling of a couple of vehicles could be heard coming down the road toward them. The familiar drone of the engines continued, growing steadily louder as the vehicles got closer. When they reached the motel, the cars slowed down briefly before turning into the parking lot.

John, Bobby and Sam readied themselves; they altered their stances one final time and readjusted the weapons they held in their hands. And then they waited while a succession of car doors opened and closed, followed by the muffled sound of footsteps that announced the arrival of the vampires on the grounds behind the hotel. The short silence that ensued was broken by the din of hushed voices as the vampires discussed their plan of attack.

By now the three men could see their adversaries. And they had been right; there were thirteen of them. And as expected the vampires broke off into groups of two with the remaining vampire returning to the front of the motel to act as a lookout. Everything was falling neatly into place.

John, Bobby and Sam waited patiently until the timing was just right. Then with lightning speed, they emerged from their hiding places and attacked, approaching the unsuspecting vampires from behind and, with swords crisscrossing rapidly, the sharp blades tore though the neck of their hapless victims, beheading them instantly. Before their partners could react, the second vampire in each group was beheaded in the exact same fashion. Then the men moved silently on to the next cottage and the next set of victims. And the darkness of the night concealed the bloody carnage that ensued as each pairof vampires was discretely deposed of.

John sliced through the neck of his fifth and final vampire before turning in time to see Bobby behead its hapless partner. Both men took a deep breath and stared at each other for a brief moment. Then without uttering a word, they dashed to the front of the motel in search of Sam. But when they got there, he was standing over the headless corpse of the sentry vampire. All the vampires had been killed.

"You okay?" John asked as he approached his youngest son.

Sam nodded, slightly out of breath.

"Good," John replied. "You ready to blow this popsicle stand?"

"Yeah," answered Sam as he turned to head to the truck. "We gotta get back to the motel and check on Dean."

John walked over to Bobby and the two men shook hands.

"John, you head on back to the motel," Bobby stated. "The room's registered under the name Arnold Paole and it's been paid in full 'til the end of the month. That should give Dean time to recover."

"You not comin' back with us?"

"Nay, I gotta be getting' home. Wasn't plannin' on being away this long and I got things of my own to take care of. But you look after your boys. And keep in touch, ya hear? Call me if ya need anything."

John nodded and they headed over to their own vehicles. John slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. He laid his head on the headrest and briefly closed his eyes. He let out a slight chuckle before he opened them and put the truck into gear.

Sam looked quizzically over at his father. "What are you laughin' at?"

"Your brother. Dean's gonna be really pissed when he finds out he missed this fight."

"Ya think?" Sam responded, realizing the truth in his father's words.

_THE END_


End file.
